


An Accident Waiting to Happen

by Phasingphoenix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fuckboy syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phasingphoenix/pseuds/Phasingphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(title is subject to change)<br/>This is the story of tumblr user rutherfart's Inquisitor, Rhyleigh Trevelyan. He is a young man with tumultuous family relations and a total brat complex as a result. Over the course of the story, he's forced to mend his personality from a spiteful child into a hero. But even when he gets himself together, maybe he can't save everyone.</p>
<p>I do have permission to write about this Inquisitor that is not mine. Nothing is mine except the writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistake

With a groan, Rhyleigh Trevelyan stirred, his head aching as though he'd spent the night in a dwarven tavern. When he tried to put his hands to his face, he realized his mobility was restricted. Opening his eyes showed irons around his wrists, and his left hand glowing a vibrant, swirling green.

Rhyleigh had never been afraid of any part of himself before but this, _this_ was definitely something to be nervous about. Before he could even begin to panic about that, or the fact that he was locked in a cell, the door burst open with enough force to bounce back off the stone wall. From its opening came a woman with dark hair and an even darker expression, her armor and sword gleaming in the half-light of the torches. "Divine Justinia is dead," she said immediately, causing his mind to whirl all the more. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is now dead... except for you."

There was instant alarm in Rhyleigh's head. What? Everyone dead but him? Why not him? Why was he still here? "And you think I had something to do with it?" he snapped. 

She seized his hand, holding up the glowing mark. "Explain this," she spat, throwing it back down.

As though she'd triggered something, pain like lightning lanced up his arm into his shoulder. "I - I don't know what that is!" he gasped, holding his hand against his chest. Maker's balls, what was going on? 

"How do you not know?" she snarled, seizing him by the front of his jacket. "You were there, you're the only one who made it out! It's _your_ hand!"

"But I don't remember!" he shouted back. "Do you think I'd let you tie me up if I was some mastermind who destroyed the Conclave? I have no idea what you're talking about, and I'm certain if my father-"

"Do you think _family relations_ will help you worm your way out of this? If you don't start answering my questions, I'll-"

"Cassandra," said a second woman who had entered with the first. She pulled the warrior back, giving her a meaningful look. "We need him."

Rhyleigh stared at the two, feeling cold, shaky, confused. He was not supposed to be here. Either someone was being very cruel, or he was in very, very big trouble.

"What do you remember of this incident?" asked the second woman, far more calmly than the first. 

Rhyleigh thought back. He'd snuck into the Conclave, uninvited, just to see what was going on and maybe embarrass his mother. He hadn't meant for any of the rest... whatever the rest happened to be. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I-it was like a nightmare, these horrible... _things_ were chasing me, and then... there was a woman."

"A woman?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"She was there, and I reached for her, and then... I'm here." He looked up again. "So I don't _know_ what you're on about, let me go."

The woman called Cassandra put a hand to her face, turning away. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will deal with this."

The woman with the cowl nodded, then left the cell. As for Cassandra, she turned back to Rhyleigh, and he was neither surprised nor concerned about the disgust in her face. "I don't care what you say you know or don't know. Right now, you're the only thing we have that might stop the Breach."

He looked up at her, tilting his head. "Breach?"

She grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. For a moment, the anger in her eyes dimmed so that sadness and pain broke through, and he didn't miss it. "It would be easier to show you," she said, dragging him with her out the door.

He protested the sudden onslaught of light, easily pulling his arm from her grasp to shield his eyes. When he finally adjusted, he nearly turned back into the cell.

The sky was torn. Not like the way a twisting wind tunnel looked when it was about to hit the earth, no. It was _rent_ , like giant hands had pulled it apart. In that moment, looking at the monstrosity made every other remotely horrible thing entirely possible. 

"What... is that?" he breathed, hardly aware of himself saying the words.

" _That_ is what was caused by the explosion at the Conclave," Cassandra replied.

As he watched, the Breach flashed, expanding, and suddenly pain like before flared in his arm, and he hit the ground, cradling it to his chest. Cassandra knelt before him, pointing up at the sky. "Each time the Breach grows, so does your mark. And it _is_ killing you."

He looked at her, now panicked on top of his horror. "Wait - if I help you, does that mean I live?"

"The goal is for us _all_ to live," she pointed out.

"But we don't _all_ have a fuckin' glowing arm, do we?" he said, waving his hand at her. "Just show me how to make it stop doing the flashing thing."

She made a noise of disgust, but pulled him to his feet again to trail along behind her. 

She showed him the camp of people who were attempting to take shelter from the chaos. It wasn't that he wasn't accustomed to having a lot of people giving him disapproving glances, but this many people, people he didn't know, were looking at him with utter hatred for something he neither did nor understood. But they blamed him. They looked at the nightmare in the sky and he was the face they associated with it. For all the trouble he'd ever gotten himself into, it had never been this bad.

And it only got worse from there. The Breach continued to grow, and demons began attacking them every time they turned a corner. And Cassandra _still_ didn't want him to have a weapon, as though leaving him defenseless was going to make anything better. And he pointed this out, fighting with her on it until she finally let him keep the two-handed sword he'd picked up. It was cheap, not well-balanced, and had nicks along the blade, but it was all he had, so he'd use it. 

At least he found she wasn't only this mean to him. When they found the elven apostate and dwarven prisoner, he realized she disliked almost everyone to varying degrees. The apostate, she could tolerate. The dwarf, absolutely not. At least she knew when help was warranted, and she accepted theirs.

And as if this uptight Seeker wasn't bad enough, the Chantry clerk they met at the forward camp was ten times worse. 

"As Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this man to Val Royeaux for execution!" were the first words out of his mouth.

Rhyleigh's jaw dropped. "Wow, not even a hello. Whatever happened to me being your only hope?"

"He _is_ , Chancellor," Cassandra said. "He has the mark, it's connected to the Breach and currently our only means of closing it."

"Closing it?" he blustered. "Seeker Cassandra, you can't even _approach_ the blighted thing! Call a retreat, there is nothing more we can do."

"We can stop this before it gets any worse!" she argued, the force in her voice far more than professional as she leaned on the makeshift table. 

"There's no hope! The best we can do is elect a new Divine and await _her_ orders."

"Right, yeah, good plan," Rhyleigh said with a nod. "Not like it takes ten years for your guild of pretentious idiots to elect a new one. By then, we probably won't even have a sky anymore, or people to elect. We'll all be getting the chance to see if your precious Maker is really up there."

"Enough!" Cassandra barked, whirling on him.

"Still voting to stay his execution, Seeker?" Roderick asked smugly. 

Leliana stepped forward, putting a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "We don't have to charge head-on. There is a pass through the mountains that can take us down to the Valley."

"It's too dangerous," said the Seeker. "We lost contact with an entire squad up there."

"Listen to me," Roderick said, the pitch of his voice lowering with intensity. "Stop this, now, before more lives are lost."

Rhyleigh opened his mouth to fire another scathing retort at the chancellor, but his voice disappeared in a grunt as the Breach expanded once more. Cassandra turned, watching his mark for a moment, then looked him in the eye. "What do you think we should do?"

He stared at her, raising his eyebrows. "Wh - now you're asking _me_?"

"Yes, I'm asking _you_ ," she said snappishly.

"You _are_ the one with the mark," Solas pointed out.

Rhyleigh paused, wondering how best to say aloud that he really should not have been the one making this decision. No one had ever trusted him with anything important like this. The pressure, combined with the lingering pain in his arm, threw him off so badly for a moment that he had to look away.

He happened to turn right towards the Breach. Troublemaker or not, by his own volition or not, there was a big fucking hole in the sky and for some reason he was the only one with the power to close it. _Someone_ up there was probably laughing their arse off, and that just made him angry. Things like this didn't just happen, no evidence supported that. Someone had done this on purpose, mortal or divine, and it was going to fuck everyone over. It had already ruined his life to an unreasonable degree.

"We'll charge with the troops," he said. "It needs to be closed _now_."

Cassandra nodded. "So be it."

Despite protestations from the chancellor, the little party marched onward to join whoever was still up and fighting down near the valley. Rhyleigh was ready for this to be done, for this nightmare to end so he could go home and pretend it never happened.

How little he knew, nightmares were never so easy to disperse.


	2. The Young Herald

Cassandra had decided that she hated the so-called Herald of Andraste. It was a wonder they hadn't actually gone through with the execution.

The boy was just that: a boy, spoiled and not at all versed in the ways the world actually worked. He was the son of a noble house in Ostwick (although Leliana had begun hinting that this might not have been entirely true), and this seemed to give him the idea that he was better than everyone. Though, the house must not have been particularly religious, for he went about hissing insults about the Maker at every Chantry sister who dared recite the Chant, thus resulting in a boot up his arse from the first Templar that heard it.

This, then, resulted in a brawl in front of the Chantry that had to be stopped by Commander Cullen. 

He was worse than awful, an absolute terror that did nothing but prove the Chantry right about everything. If only his hand wasn't so damned useful.

"Herald, would you please try to at least _pretend_ you're paying attention," she snapped at him in the war room.

"My _name_ is Rhyleigh," he snapped back. "I don't even know why you called me in here, unless you're finally going to send me home."

"Home?" Cullen said, raising his head. 

"Yeah, home," he repeated. "I don't want to be here, you don't want me here, so why keep me?"

"Why keep you indeed?" Cassandra muttered.

"You still have the mark," Leliana said. "We have no means of removing it from you, and without it we have no way of closing the Rifts that are still in Thedas."

"I have also taken the liberty of corresponding with your family on the matter," Josephine said. "They have agreed that it would be better if you remained with the Inquisition to assist in this chaotic time."

The boy looked at her, the sneer leaving his face and giving way to a look of hurt surprise. "Of course they did," he muttered, turning and stalking from the war room.

Cassandra huffed. "Of all the people to be chosen. He is nothing but a brat."

"And that surprises me. I thought the family was a bit better about upbringing," Cullen said. "I've met the eldest before, Yorick Trevelyan. He's Ostwick's Knight-Captain. You'd be hard-pressed to find a better man. And I heard the sister spends time practicing with weaponry though she's set to take part in a political marriage."

"It happens with the youngest sometimes," Josephine said mildly. "The expectations are placed on the older children so there is nothing left for the last. It is not uncommon."

"But not the cause, in this case," Leliana said. She looked at the other advisers, crossing her arms. "I'm not surprised in the least that the Trevelyans would rather keep Rhyleigh at arm's length from the estate. It would have been a challenge to get rid of him otherwise."

"Get rid of him?" Cullen said, sounding appalled.

She looked at him. "He's an illegitimate child. Bann Trevelyan claimed him after an affair with an Antivan woman nearly twenty years ago. Rhyleigh is well aware of his standing in the family."

Josephine had her hands to her mouth, and Cullen looked equally surprised. Cassandra merely frowned, looking at the door through which the boy had just gone, then shook her head. "That still does not excuse his behavior."

"No," Leliana said. "But how often is anyone's behavior excused? He closes the Rifts when he needs to. He helped the refugees at the Crossroads. If he wants to have a bad attitude, fine. Josephine and I can work on the Inquisition's representation."

Cassandra would have liked to argue that Rhyleigh's attitude was, in fact, a large problem, but that wasn't the point Leliana was making. The work getting done was of the most importance, and that was actually happening. They should be grateful for at least that much.

. . .

Rhyleigh had gone out to the frozen lake, where the boardwalk jutted out of the ice and abandoned boats lay in the snow. A few Inquisition men stood near the trebuchet that was close by, and he could actually hear every word they were saying, though he didn't show it. Soldiers were always too loud about their gossip.

"He's just a kid. Bloody good we've got the Commander, I ain't following a boy just because his hand glows."

"I heard he and that Templar, Martin, had it out in front of the Chantry. Commander had to separate them."

"Yeah, I was there. Right pain in the arse, if you ask me. Andraste could have done better."

There was a pause, then, "Could have done worse, too."

"Aye, but not by much."

Footsteps on the boardwalk jolted Rhyleigh out of his eavesdropping, and he whipped around to look at the intruder. "Here to regale me with the Tale of the Champion? I hear you do that," he said, turning back around.

Varric took up the spot beside him, chuckling a little. "Not unless you want me to. And even then, you'll have to pay. I don't give freebies to just anyone, you know."

Rhyleigh remained silent, in no mood for the pep talk he was certain was coming. 

Varric looked at him, then shook his head. "It's _uncanny_ how much you remind me of someone."

"That's me, the one who's just like everyone else."

"I didn't say that," he chuckled. "Maker's ass, I never thought I'd meet another person like him. I didn't think anyone else had the capacity to be _so intensely broody_."

Rhyleigh shot a look at the dwarf. "Yeah? People call him a spoiled brat, too?"

Varric snorted. "Nah. He was an escaped Tevinter slave with lyrium tattoos, I don't think anyone ever associated him with the word 'spoiled.' But brat... well, what else do you call someone who treats people who are only trying to help like the demons falling out of the Fade?"

He let out a hollow laugh. "Help? What d'you mean, _help_? I didn't ask to come here, didn't want to be a part of this, but I don't get much of a choice, do I? And neither do any of you. Nobody wants me to stay here, least of all me, but... nobody wants me back home, either. Chantry doesn't like me, big surprise. Now I've got this thing on my hand that makes people look at me funny." He looked at Varric. "Now you tell me, who exactly is trying to help me?"

"Well, Mother Giselle wasn't anything less than polite when you brought down the full force of your sass on her," Varric said casually.

"Give her time."

"And Ruffles in there fights tooth and nail to stop all the gossip about you. In fact, she's probably the only person here still rooting for you, so you might want to arrange a nice fruit basket when you get the chance." The dwarf looked over, finally looking as serious as he felt. "You spend a truly impressive amount of time being angry about how people think of you. The fact is, most people just don't care until you open your mouth and give them a reason to. So if you want them to hate you, by all means, carry on. But here's a little advice from a guy who lived in a Lowtown tavern: you're going to need loyal allies, because shit's gonna fly, and you'll need someone willing to get covered in it with you. Nobody gets to be a kid here, kid."

Rhyleigh frowned. "I didn't ask for-" But Varric had already gotten to his feet. He patted Rhyleigh on the back and walked away, ignoring whatever retort Rhyleigh was about to throw at him. 

As though Rhyleigh wanted to ally himself with any of these people. He knew their type. They were all from noble houses, or near enough, and Solas was a mage who'd been on his own so long that he had his own innate power. Those sorts of people always had their own agendas, their own reasons for doing a good deed. The Inquisition was no less than one giant political shift in the form of a "good deed" and Rhyleigh was determined to do as little for them as possible.

Even though... well, sometimes it looked different. Sometimes Cassandra stepped up when she didn't have to. Sometimes Leliana still cried real tears for the Divine. Sometimes Cullen gave the recruits an hour's break because they'd been doing such good work. And those same recruits, they'd come back not a moment too late, and their training would be just as diligent. 

Rhyleigh looked up at the hole in the sky, the Breach that had sent fear like thunder rolling through his body. He remembered what he'd thought about it before, that it was part of someone's agenda, be it god or mortal. The injustice of it was what had carried him through the initial charge. 

It was a big problem, and for some reason no one could comprehend, he could fix it. Regardless of political machinations, that Breach needed to be closed so people could stop dying. Then, maybe he could finally go home. 

And maybe, if he did that, he'd be welcome. 

He got up off the boardwalk and went back into Haven, back to the Chantry. He pushed open the door to the war room, seeing his advisers still gathered, and he took a breath. "Alright... my brother's a Templar. And now there's red lyrium everywhere, and I haven't gotten a letter from him in a while. We should go to Therinfal Redoubt and see if we can make an alliance, because-" he hesitated, then forged on, "it worries me that a Templar can punch a Chantry sister and the Lord Seeker seems fine with that. It's not the Order I remember." Okay, he did it, he talked like a grown up like Varric said.

For the very first time, Cassandra actually looked pleased, and Josephine seemed to relax. Cullen practically smiled. "I was thinking much the same," he said, moving to the map. "We've begun to make a plan, if you're willing to hear it."

Leliana's was the only face Rhyleigh really couldn't look at. She had that look like she knew something, and a weird hint of pride like he'd done well and she was personally invested in that. He didn't doubt she knew his secret. She could know that, but he knew she understood fuck all about him. He was doing this to get out of there as soon as possible, not to make anyone proud.


	3. Doubt at Therinfal

It had taken far longer than he'd thought it would.

It had seemed simple at first. Recruit the aid of the Templars, then have them nullify the Breach's power enough for him to be able to close it. But there were so many other things that were wrong with the world, so many obstacles that weren't as simple as a hole in the sky. There were demons infecting powerful people, and those under them had been angry for so long that they followed without question. The Templars at Therinfal had no idea how far down a darkened path they'd gone until it was nearly too late to save them. And every moment there had been agony for Rhyleigh.

When he'd gone in to meet the Lord Seeker, he had found nothing but a trap. To be honest, he'd known going in that things weren't right (he wouldn't have been there if they were), but watching those Templar officers glow, watching them turn on people that were only trying to help, had been utter madness. When that initial fight ended, he'd torn the helmets from every corpse, nearly crying with relief when none of them turned out to be his brother. There was only one person in his whole life who'd ever treated Rhyleigh like an equal, and that was the only person he'd expend every breath trying to protect.

Rhyleigh had hoped Yorick wouldn't be there at all, that he'd still be safe back in Ostwick taking care of the shattered Circle. Bursting onto the ramparts to aid the remaining officers, he immediately thought he'd have an aneurysm. "What are you doing here?" he roared, swinging his hammer mightily to knock a lyrium abomination away.

Yorick ignored his anger entirely. "There you are! About bloody time!"

"What? What d'you mean _about time_? I've been here since before the fighting started!"

Yorick covered himself with his shield to deflect a blow, then drove his sword into an abomination. "I got here before because I heard the Inquisition was coming to see about the problems. Thought you'd be here a lot sooner."

"And I thought _you'd_ be back in Ostwick!"

Sera let out a loud groan, releasing an arrow before rolling her eyes. "You two gonna shut up and fight or what?"

Yorick glanced over at her, then looked at Rhyleigh. "She's a pretty one."

"No, no, I already got an arrow in my left buttock for that, we're not revisiting it," he said, moving to the next opponent. 

Once the Red Templars were cleared away, Yorick finally took a moment to turn and really look at his brother. " _That_ was a good bit of fighting," he said.

Rhyleigh looked away, shifting uncomfortably. "Yeah, well... anyway, there's an envy demon downstairs, and we really should be getting back to it before we catch up. You can help Ser Barris, he'll need anyone he's got left."

"Right," Yorick said with a nod, hefting his shield. "Back into the fray, then."

. . .

When they were through with Envy, Rhyleigh was shaking. He hated that demon. It wasn't just a difficult fight physically, it had been severely taxing mentally and emotionally because Envy had been in his head, had crawled around and tried him on and made a show of Being Rhyleigh. And Rhyleigh wasn't quite certain some of those visions wouldn't actually happen. 

_"You know me well, don't you, little Trevelyan?"_ the creature had murmured, as though the thought was a comfort. _"Little bastard. Chosen by Holy Andraste and still never good enough. I'd be great, if I was you. I'd have everything, and I'd take it."_

"Herald!" Cassandra called, rattling him out of his reverie. 

He turned to face her. "What?"

She gestured back towards the castle. "The Templars are waiting."

"Great. Go ask them if they'll join the Inquisition," he said. 

She raised an eyebrow. " _You're_ the one who suggested we come here. There was corruption in their ranks. I think it only fitting that you should be the one to decide what should be done."

He didn't know how to tell her that going up to a bunch of Templars and telling them how badly they'd messed up was nowhere remotely close to his comfort zone. Especially in this moment, after Envy had gained his likeness and absolutely no one hesitated in continuing the fight. "It's not a complicated task," he said irritably. "You just go in there and ask them to help close the Breach. Or, since I know you're not a fan of asking, just grab Ser Barris by the ear and tell him he's coming with you back to Haven. That seems more your style."

She scowled at him. "And here I thought you'd gained some decency. Your every breath undermines everything we stand for."

"So why do you want me negotiating with the last of the loyal Templars!"

"Rhyleigh!" 

He turned, freezing for a moment as he saw Yorick approaching, then he turned away from both of them. "I don't really have time right now, Yorick, so-"

The Templar ignored him, putting a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "If you don't mind, Seeker Cassandra, I'd like a word with my brother."

She threw her hands in the air. "Be my guest," she said, stalking away from the boy. 

Yorick then seized Rhyleigh's shoulder before he could walk away. "No, that's enough of that."

"I told you, we'd talk when we got back to Haven," he said.

"It looks like we need to talk right now," Yorick said firmly. He waited until it looked like Rhyleigh would stay in one place, then folded his arms. "You got scared, Rhyles, it happens. But you don't need to bring out the attitude just because you don't want to talk."

"Why is this my job?" he demanded. "Cassandra's better suited to be leading everyone, why isn't she doing it?"

"Because _she's_ not the one who rallied the rest of the forces," Yorick said. "You saved the officers, dusted them off and got them up for the last big fight. You called out the Lord Seeker when even Lady Cassandra hesitated. Now is _not_ the time for pointing fingers, now's the time for you to get up and give them a reason to follow the Inquisition."

Rhyleigh frowned, still grappling with the idea of facing a hundred Templars, then sighed. "Fine," he muttered, pushing past Yorick. He was good at fighting, good at taking out whatever enemy someone pointed at. He shouldn't have been the one at the front of all this (especially since that meeting in Val Royeaux proved to be an enormous disaster), but they kept shoving him up there as though he could somehow single-handedly accomplish everything they wanted. 

But he got up there, looked at Ser Barris and the other Templars, and saw the guilt in their eyes that said it didn't really matter who he was. He'd just fixed their problem and it was down to them to repay him for it. "This was... bad," he began hesitantly. "There's no way around that. You were all so wrapped up in that damn rebellion that you didn't care how you got your way. But we _still_ need you, regardless of that. I want that Breach closed yesterday, so unless you'd like to see what the Chantry has in store for you, I'd recommend coming with us back to Haven."

Barris looked at him uncertainly. "Are you going to leash us, Ser? I wouldn't be surprised, we'd do it in a heartbeat if this had happened to mages."

Rhyleigh looked at him in slight surprise, then sighed. "No, for two reasons. One, because you just said that and I think that says a lot about you. Two, because you're the ones standing here. You fought against the corruption even though you probably wouldn't be thanked later. Things get messy sometimes, but we still have to get one with it." 

No one had ever looked at Rhyleigh with as much gratitude as Barris did then. He didn't even need his following rousing speech to say that he'd do his utmost to make Rhyleigh and the Inquisition proud. No one had ever wanted to do that, before, either.

"Templars! Will we salvage the Order? Will we rebuild into what we were meant to be? Will we return to fulfilling our vows as we swore to do?"

There was an answering cacophony of cheering as the Templars raised their swords, and Rhyleigh actually stepped back to avoid having any of them look directly at him when they did it. He came in contact with something solid and felt Yorick's hand on his shoulder.

" _That's_ what they're looking for," he said.

Rhyleigh shrugged away, uncomfortable with the pride in the man's eyes. "Yeah, let's just get back to Haven and get this done."


	4. A Moment of Valor

It was done.

Rhyleigh had closed the Breach, with his brother and the other Templars at his back. And though it took a lot, though he collapsed when it was over, he felt as though he could finally breathe again. Now the sky was shut, and they didn't need his hand anymore.

A massive party filled Haven with sound and excitement, even the most stoic of villagers joining in the revelry. Rhyleigh kept back, taking his food and lingering near the side of one of the houses. If he'd been allowed, he'd have gone straight back to his bed and slept for a day, then prepared to leave for Ostwick, but his advisers had unanimously agreed that he ought to put in an appearance at the party. Well, he was there. That was all they were getting out of him. 

After some time, he saw Josephine making her way over to him, flushed from the latest dance and slightly breathless. "Are you unwell, Herald?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he replied shortly.

She smiled slightly and stepped forward. "You did well with the Breach. And with the Templars. Many people owe their lives to you tonight."

"That's not necessary."

"Ah, there you are!" called Yorick as he strode over. He paused, seeing Josephine, and his eyes lit up. "My lady, I apologize for interrupting," he said with a bow.

Josephine laughed. "Not at all, Lord Trevelyan. I will leave you to your brother," she said, and Rhyleigh could have sworn she was blushing as she left. 

Yorick watched her leave, then turned back to Rhyleigh. "Couldn't find a dance partner, Rhyles?"

Rhyleigh rolled his eyes. "Cass yelled at me. Flissa was game, but then Cass kept giving me dirty looks, so...." He shrugged, taking a drink out of his tankard. "She doesn't know what she's missing, to be perfectly honest. I could probably pick her up and-"

"Right, yeah, don't need the image," Yorick said, holding up a hand. "That's not why I came over, anyway. You did good work out there, better than I've seen in a long time. You should be proud."

Rhyleigh shifted, looking away. "You did it. It wasn't possible without the Templars, that's why it took so bloody long."

Yorick shook his head with a small smile. "And you really want to go back? You want to stop being this hero and sit in the estate in Ostwick again?"

Rhyleigh looked at him. "Yeah, I want to go back. I want to _leave_ , and that's the only other place I've got to go. This is a nightmare, you've no idea what's been going on since I apparently fell out of the Fade. This shit is weird."

"Yeah, but it looks like you're good at the weird shit," Yorick said. "Listen, I just don't want you to make a mistake. If you want to keep fighting with the Inquisition, I've no doubt they'll let you. They're still trying to find out who broke the sky in the first place, yeah? You've got a place here, and you've done really great so far. If you go back home, it's back to fights with Camilla and having Mother disapprove of your hair all the time."

Rhyleigh took another long drink, looking away again. Yorick had an excellent point. There was still the matter of every day here being a health risk and he wasn't too fond of that. No one needed him to save them anymore, so he'd gracefully bow out and go home.

Then the alarm bells began to ring.

He looked up, wondering if some drunk scout had climbed up to the belltower, but no such luck. Commander Cullen was sprinting through the center of Haven shouting a call to arms. 

"An attack?" Yorick said. He looked at Rhyleigh, then back at Cullen and immediately set off at a run. 

Rhyleigh was a bit slower to react. The bells began to sound like they were ringing in the distance, everything else beginning to seem unreal. This couldn't be happening. They were in the midst of celebrating a victory, and now they were being attacked? Who could be marching on them now? It was the sort of thing that only happened in nightmares. 

As his life was becoming a waking nightmare, however, he seized his hammer from where it leaned against the wall and ran for the gates.

The commander was already briefing the others when he arrived. "One watchguard reporting. It's a massive force; the bulk, over the mountain."

"Under what banner?" Josephine asked.

"None," he replied grimly. 

At that moment, something hammered against the the gates from the other side, causing everyone to immediately tense and draw their weapons. Then, a decidedly stiff and non-threatening voice called out, "If someone could open this, I'd appreciate it!"

Rhyleigh and one of the scouts immediately moved forward to push the doors open. Just beyond crouched a man on shaking legs, four bodies surrounding him. He was a mage, as his staff clearly proved, but he was perhaps the most beautiful mage Rhyleigh had ever seen in his life.

"I came here to warn you. Fashionably late, I'm afraid," he said, pushing himself to his feet. He began to tip over almost immediately, and Rhyleigh was there to catch him before he fell. However, the man merely pushed away. "Might exhausted, don't mind me," he grunted, shaking himself. "My name is Dorian Pavus, and I bring grave news from Redcliffe. An army of rebel mages, right behind me. They are under the command of the Venatori, in service to something called the Elder One." He turned, pointing up to a cliff over which a figure emerged. "The woman is Calpernia, she commands the Venatori."

A second figure joined the first, and Rhyleigh couldn't peg its origins for anything, not Qunari, not elf, and certainly not human. It was nearly twice the height of Calpernia, and it glowed with the red haze of corrupted lyrium.

"And that is the Elder One," Dorian added more quietly.

Rhyleigh stared at the monster, the real thing so much more terrifying than the ideas he'd already had. "Someone tell me what to do," he said. When there was a beat of silence, he looked to his right. "Cullen, is there a plan?"

"Haven is no fortress, its defenses are minimal," he said quickly. "We have to gain the upper hand first. Use everything you can. I'll gather the troops."

Rhyleigh watched him go, feeling a sudden shot of panic. "That wasn't a plan!" he called, watching the approaching mages. From the corner of his eye, he saw two Inquisition soldiers sprinting for the trebuchets, but with how close the enemy already was, they didn't have much chance of getting anything launched. "Cass!" he snapped, grabbing the Seeker and dragging her with him to the war machine. Varric, Solas, Yorick, and several other soldiers followed behind. 

For having had no time to prepare for the battle (and some people still a little tipsy), they were functioning incredibly well. Few casualties were sustained while they defended the woman atop the trebuchet, but for every mage felled, another two took their place. Rhyleigh was about to lose his mind, lost in nothing but the fight, the constant barrage of enemies and the need to watch himself for magic. Eventually, he heard the triumphant cry of, "That's it! We've hit the mark! Go see to the other trebuchet, it isn't firing!"

He felt Cassandra seize him by the back of his coat as she was the first to take off, and then they were all practically flying down the road to the next trebuchet. There was not a moment to stop for breath, not a second to waste getting bearings and making a plan. The only plan was to fight, fight until enough Venatori were dead to make a difference, and then fight the next round. 

A group of mages and Venatori were already surrounding the second machine, the original pilots slain on the ground. Solas sent a blast of magic their way, scattering most away from the trebuchet. "You wind it back!" Cassandra yelled, shoving Rhyleigh towards the steps. "We'll keep them off you!"

He nearly tripped up the stairs, then dropped his hammer and seized hold of the winding mechanism. He didn't have the thought to argue, only the terror of not being able to do this, being too slow or too late and not getting the chance to use the sole advantage they had over the enemy. His hands shook, but he shoved the wheel with all his might, using all the muscle he possessed to get it primed as quickly as humanly possible. When he heard the arm lock into place, he pulled the release and watched as the boulder arced through the sky, landing solidly high up on a mountain to bring down an avalanche upon the army.

That was the moment when the iron bands around his chest snapped and he could breathe again, leaning against the trebuchet for support. 

"That should take care of them!" Varric crowed, slapping him on the back. They hadn't had much, but this time, it had been enough. 

"Rhyleigh!" Solas shouted, causing the Herald to look up. Before the snow even had the chance to settle, a new danger presented itself. A great, black dragon swooped low, its intended target painfully obvious.

"Get down!" he shouted, diving off the platform to get low as possible. 

The single most terrifying moment of his young life was then, the feeling of hot air as the dragon swooped over, the searing heat of fire as torrents of it came raining down, and absolutely nothing for Rhyleigh to do about any of it except lay facedown in the dirt. 

When the sounds of the great beast faded, he finally chanced a look up. The trebuchet was utterly destroyed, no hope for repairing it. 

"Is everyone alright?" Cassandra panted. 

Varric, right beside Rhyleigh, looked like he was about to start screaming. "Was that a Maker-damned Archdemon?" he cried.

Solas grabbed the dwarf by the jacket and pulled him to his feet. "We need to return to the gates, we have no means of defense out here."

Rhyleigh looked around wildly, seeing dead Venatori and Inquisition soldiers alike littering the ground. "Where's Yorick?" he called.

"He remained with the other Templars at the front, they will have already reached the gates," Cassandra said. 

It was time for another headlong sprint. The dragon was still roaring above, circling Haven like a hawk over wounded prey. The Inquisition team went flying back down the path the way they'd come, leaping up the stairs as Cullen shoved soldier after soldier back into the relative safety of Haven's walls. 

Rhyleigh took a moment to catch his breath, bracing his hands against his knees, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a blade against a blade. Looking up, he saw Venatori that had made their way in. "Maker's sake!" he shouted, readying himself for another round. 

He caught sight of Sera and Cole fighting near Iron Bull, and he called the two rogues over when he had a moment. He gave them the order to stealth themselves, then rescue as many villagers as possible. "We'll keep the mages busy. Get to the Chantry when you're done," he said. They didn't question it, they only ran.

"Do we have the time for that?" Cassandra asked him, panting heavily.

"The point is to get everyone in the Chantry, yeah?" he snapped. "That's what we're doing. Let's take out these mages and get inside."

She gave him a strange look, but complied, throwing herself back into the fray. 

Rhyleigh still didn't give the call to fall back until he saw Cole and Sera running through the Chantry's doors.

There was an army of wounded inside those walls. And it wasn't even a particularly good Chantry, not like the soaring stone buildings in Ostwick. This was wood, small, just barely able to hold what was left of the Inquisition.

"Herald!" Cullen called the moment he saw Rhyleigh enter. He and, to Rhyleigh's relief, Yorick came over, Cullen lowering his voice so not too many could hear. "Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us."

"Bloody great, of course he did," Rhyleigh muttered, running a hand through his hair. 

"There was no communication, no demands. Only assault after assault."

"There was no negotiating with the mages, either," said the man called Dorian, who was currently supporting an injured Chancellor Roderick. "This Elder One takes what he wants. From what I gathered in Redcliffe, he marched all this way to take your Herald."

Rhyleigh froze, staring at the mage, hoping he was mistaken or lying. He could feel all eyes on him, felt blame seeping into his heart. Everything that was going on outside was for him. "Why?" he croaked.

"That's not really information I'd keep to myself, although I would assume it's due to the mark on your hand," Dorian said. He shook his head, laughing humorlessly. "And such a promising start with the trebuchets. A pity they're no longer an option."

Yorick looked up at that. "They are," he said, a grim tone entering his voice. "If we turn the last of them to the mountains above us."

"What?" Rhyleigh said, alarmed that his brother would think of such a plan. "The Venatori are right on top of us. To hit them, we'd bury Haven."

"Not many people get to choose how they die," Cullen said, equally resolute. "At this point, we'll just make them work for it."

"That's not acceptable!" Dorian said, shoving himself to his feet. "I didn't race all the way here for you to drop rocks on my head!"

"Should we submit? _Let_ him kill us?" Cullen asked.

"It's the only thing we've got left," Yorick said.

Rhyleigh was shaking his head because no, no, this wasn't how it worked at all. They closed the Breach, the immediate danger was gone, he was supposed to go home. He had been officially done the moment the sky was mended, he was not about to die an unwilling martyr.

"There is a path," said a rough voice. Chancellor Roderick gave a wet cough, then forged on. "You wouldn't know of it unless you've made the summer pilgrimage... as I have. The people _can_ escape. She must have shown me - Andraste must have shown me so I could...."

Rhyleigh felt a surge of hope and looked to Cullen. "What about it? Can we get everyone there?"

"We can get them on the path, certainly, but I'm not sure how far we'll get with that dragon bearing down on us," he said.

And just like that, Rhyleigh's hope vanished. There was one way out. To use it, a distraction was necessary. There was really only one way this was going to play out. "Lead the people out, Cullen," he said, mouth dry, body numb. "I'll make sure they don't see you."

Dorian looked at him in surprise, and Yorick seemed dumbfounded. Cullen hesitated before complying. "And... what of your escape?" he asked.

Rhyleigh did not reply.

The commander tightened his jaw and nodded. "Right. Dorian, you take care of Chancellor Roderick, I'll get the people together. Ser Yorick, I'll need your help."

Cullen tugged on the Templar's shoulder, but Yorick resisted, pushing back towards his brother. "Wait! Rhyleigh, what are you doing?"

Rhyleigh didn't need this, he didn't want Yorick trying to stop him when the decision was out of their hands. "I'm providing a distraction," he said, trying to inject a light tone into his words and only cracking his voice. "As usual, yeah? Who's better at being annoying than me?"

"Then I'm going with you-"

" _No_ , you're not," he snapped, shoving Yorick back. "You're going to help Cullen with the escape because you're far more useful here. Don't you even think about following me out those doors."

Yorick stared hard at him, working his jaw as though he wanted to say something and unable to find the words. "Twenty," he finally said, throwing Rhyleigh off a bit. "Next time I see you, you'll be twenty. And we're going to have one hell of a party."

Rhyleigh hesitated. This didn't come as a surprise, he knew his birthday was coming, only a few hours away. It just hadn't been important lately. "I'll hold you to that," he said, stepping back. He couldn't wait any longer. Every moment gave them a slimmer chance for success.

Cullen took Yorick by the shoulder again, and this time, the Templar didn't resist. "Let him hear you," he said forcefully before turning and running the other direction.

Rhyleigh sucked in a deep breath, then pushed open the door.

Haven looked quiet from here. Not like nothing was wrong, as the absence of any living being was too unnerving, but there were no enemies, either. He could pretend, for a moment, that it would be a nice stroll down to the trebuchet, he'd fire it, and then just wait for the avalanche. Now that he thought about it, that actually sounded more awful.

"Heard we were being annoying," said a familiar voice at his elbow. Varric cocked a grin up at him. "I think the Seeker would agree, that's one of my specialties."

"What are you-"

"Yeah, this Elderly One's gonna regret stompin' up here all high and mighty," Sera said from his other side, giving a few practice twangs on her bow.

"What are you doing here?" Rhyleigh asked. "You should be back with Cullen."

"You need to survive long enough to get to the trebuchet, do you not?" Cassandra said from behind. "I would never let someone lay down their life for me unless I was willing to return the favor."

Rhyleigh exhaled, and Varric nudged him. "Maybe you're not so bad after all, eh, Broody?"

He shook his head, hefting his hammer. "Alright, then. Let's give him what for, yeah?"

At least it wasn't a quiet walk. The Venatori came crawling out the moment they realized someone was there to attack. There were groups of them, searching houses and streets for any stragglers, and Rhyleigh and his team happily took care of them. They drew ever closer to the last trebuchet, to what would finally get him out of this mess for good. 

Except that the moment the machine was primed and ready, a screech shook the earth, followed by the steady beat of massive wings.

"Go!" Rhyleigh heard himself screaming. "Run! I'm right behind you!" As Cassandra, Varric, and Sera took off, Rhyleigh remained tensely at the trebuchet, impatiently awaiting Cullen's signal. 

It didn't come in time. He was forced to move out of the way as the dragon landed, screeching at him, but not attacking.

And then he saw why. From behind the dragon's wing stepped the tall, gruesome figure called the Elder One, his distorted face composed in a frosty glare. "Enough!" he called, and the dragon stilled its tongue. The Elder One regarded Rhyleigh, entirely displeased. "You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more."

Rhyleigh took a hesitant step back. All he could do was what he already knew how to do. "I generally don't really know what I'm doing," he said, though his voice trembled. "Usually that works out alright for me."

The Elder One shook his head, unimpressed. "You will know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus. You _will_ kneel."

"The men I've knelt for were usually a lot prettier than you." He straightened his back. He knew when fighting bears, you tried to make yourself appear bigger. That probably wasn't an effective strategy in this situation, but it made him feel better. "You came for me. What do you want?"

"What I want is not in your power to give, but that will not stop me," replied Corypheus. "I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now."

He held up an orb that glowed like the rest of the lyrium, and pain Rhyleigh hadn't felt in weeks exploded in his arm. "It is _your_ fault, Herald," Corypheus said, and it seemed to Rhyleigh that the echoes of those words being said by so many others rang out at the same time. "You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose."

Yeah, that sounded like him alright. Even when he fucked up, he didn't fuck it up correctly. There was a surge of power from the orb, and Rhyleigh clutched his hand, crying out in pain.

"I do not know how you survived, but your mark, what you flail at Rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens." 

Rhyleigh's knees hit the ground as the pain grew, just barely able to make sense of Corypheus' words.

"And you used the Anchor to undo my work." Corypheus' lip curled in disgust. "The gall."

Rhyleigh tried to sit up, tried to fight the agony in his arm. "I never asked for any of this!" he shouted.

"You did not ask?" Corypheus said, and finally, _finally_ , the pain began to dull. Rhyleigh felt a rough hand seize his aching arm and haul him up until he was a good foot above the ground. "I once entered the Fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers. No, you did not ask. No mortal asks for that which they are given. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter in this blighted world."

Rhyleigh felt true, cold terror as he looked into the seemingly infinite eyes of Corypheus. He was limp, powerless as a doll in his grasp. 

" _Beg_ that I succeed," he said lowly, his grip on Rhyleigh's wrist tightening. "For I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty." With a practically effortless swing, he tossed Rhyleigh to the side, his head knocking against the wood of the trebuchet. He coughed, scrambling to get his wits about him as the demon approached again. "The Anchor is permanent. You have spoilt it with your stumbling."

One realization made its way into Rhyleigh's mind. The Anchor could not be removed, and that made him no longer useful. He was going to die, and Corypheus was going to move on.

But then he saw a light. It was faint, barely perceptible, but the darkness made it brighter. It was a flaming arrow, launching up from the safe position of the refugees. He was right there at the trebuchet. He had one more chance to be useful.

"I'm very sorry about the disappointment you experienced," he panted, shoving himself to his feet. "I'm sure you feel very important, taking the place of absent gods. But that doesn't do much for me, does it?" He was inching closer, nearly within range. He took a breath, making it good because it might be his last. "I never did believe in gods to begin with." 

He lunged, slamming into the trebuchet's lever and letting it launch. He had a brief moment to enjoy Corypheus' look of shock and rage before he took off running, sprinting for anywhere he could possibly find cover. The feel of the dragon soaring overhead told him Corypheus would certainly escape, but his army wouldn't. With a wordless yell, he dove through a hole in the ground as the roar from the avalanche reached deafening levels, and he fell.


	5. Carry On

He wasn't aware of much after that. There was the waking, the cold, the pain in every inch of his body. And there was the trudging, endless, slow, totally pointless in the blank landscape. That was probably why he didn't remember very well. 

It was just so bloody cold, and it was his own damn fault for being there. Maybe he shouldn't have run and jumped, he should have let himself get buried. It would have been far easier than all of this, far better to fall than to withstand this icy wind. Armor wasn't made for trekking across the mountains in a blizzard, so he had to stop to remove the metal pieces before they froze to his skin. It left less protection from the wind, and perhaps that was just as bad, but he could only function on what brain power he had left. 

And that little amount of brain power, the fact that he could only rely on the most basic of thoughts, was likely what drove him onward. Leaving himself to bare instinct ensured that only the most necessary of motivations pushed him forward, and those were the primal will to live, and pure spite. Corypheus wanted him dead. A lot of people wanted him dead at this point. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

So on he walked. There was nothing but repetition for an undetermined amount of time before he finally, unexpectedly, found the camp and collapsed. 

Later, he would be informed that he was only unconscious for about five minutes before large hands seized the front of his frozen jacket, a broken voice shouting, "You're alive! How the fuck are you alive? Maker damn it all, everyone said you were dead!"

"Stop yellin' at me," he said weakly, leaning away from his brother. 

Yorick only pulled him close, holding him tight against his chest. "Happy birthday, Rhyles," he whispered, and that was the last thing Rhyleigh heard before passing out again.

. . .

Rhyleigh didn't know what it was to be warm again until they discovered Skyhold. Or, rather, rediscovered, as Solas repeatedly informed everyone that the castle had changed hands many times. It least it wasn't as cold as a despair demon's ass and they could actually defend the place should another attack come. 

He was looking around the courtyard, debating whether or not he should go up the steps and look inside, when he noticed his advisers huddled in a cluster nearby. Cassandra caught his eye and motioned him over. 

She gave him the tiniest of smiles when he approached. "That was-"

"Don't say 'that was impressive' or anything like that. What do you want to talk about?" he said.

She almost rolled her eyes, then took a breath. "There are many things that must be discussed, now that we have faced the enemy and gained new lodgings. Corypheus came to Haven for you."

Rhyleigh looked at her, shaking his head because he still didn't want to think about it. "N-no, he came for the Anchor, that's all. When he couldn't take it, he was ready to leave."

"True," she allowed as she guided him towards the steps. "But your mark is not the reason we are all standing here. It took great courage to do what you did; courage, I will admit, I did not think you had. But you proved me wrong. The people will stand behind you because of what you did for them."

They were on the first landing of the stone steps now, and Rhyleigh could see people gathering on the ground below. This was starting to feel like a trap. "Erm, are we-"

"The Inquisition needs a leader, Rhyleigh," she said quietly, pulling him over to where Leliana stood, holding a magnificent sword. 

His eyes widened and his first instinct was to run straight back down the stairs. "Okay, but whose idea was this? Because I'm not sure we should be basing this decision on who went sprinting to their death first."

"That was not all you did," Cassandra said, eyes glittering. "You gave Sera and Cole direction to rescue the people. You defended the trebuchets before it was asked to do so. You know where and how we are needed, and the loyalty you've earned will give you the support you need."

He stared at the sword Leliana held out to him, his palms sweaty and skin feeling cold. Whatever happened to him going home? 

Then he thought about what Yorick had said. Going home would mean another unending, uphill battle with his station in life. He wouldn't have so much responsibility, but he wouldn't be so important, either. Would his mother or sister ever say the words _you proved me wrong_? Doubtful, unless he somehow managed to break their idea of how awful he could be. Cassandra had meant the opposite. She saw something good in him. Varric had, too. He had been confused for a long time about his place in the world, because he'd been a part of a noble family but never really _belonged_ there. He hadn't ever had a place he'd really belonged. 

Now they _wanted_ him to be their leader. And maybe, like with fixing the sky, he was a person that could do that. "Fine," he said quietly. He looked down at the people gathered below, and with slight horror, he realized they were waiting for a speech. Suddenly, his mouth was dry. He looked at Cassandra, who nodded encouragingly, and that actually filled him with spite. She kept doing these things to him, dragging him where he didn't want to be. He might as well get this over with. Grabbing the sword, he turned to face the people and raised it before them. "Corypheus crushed our home because he thought we didn't matter. He let Haven fall to ruin because it wasn't in his _interests_ to let it stand. He wants the power of a god, but he's not earned it, has he? Shall we boot this would-be king off the throne he made for himself?"

The following cheers were all the answer he needed. He looked at Cassandra, wishing he could wipe the smug satisfaction from her face. "See? I can pretend to be good."

"Indeed," she said, looking amused. "Shall we take a look at our new lodgings, then?"

"Only if my room gets to be the biggest and grandest," he said.

She smiled like she didn't think he was serious, then led the way further into the castle.


	6. Spirit Assistance

One perk of the new fortress, despite its ruin, was the tavern that had been erected in short order. A surly dwarven barkeep was brought in, tables and chairs set up, and barrel after barrel of mead shoved into the storerooms. Several barrels had also been uncovered deep in the bowels of Skyhold, though the barkeep vehemently insisted to put them away until a special occasion. 

So this was, of course, the place where Rhyleigh spent the majority of his free time. He could usually be found at a table by the wall, sometimes with Varric, Bull, or Sera, sometimes all three. Once he was in there with Cullen, but that had proven to be more depressing than fun and hadn't happened again. Blackwall came around once or twice, but not as often as Rhyleigh would have thought.

Today, Varric and Bull were there, it was the middle of the afternoon, and Rhyleigh was already so drunk he was having trouble thinking straight.

"It's not like he's _dead_ , Broody," Varric said before taking a drink from his tankard.

"I just fucking... I miss him," Rhyleigh said, pushing his face in his hand. "Cullen didn't even ask - no one even asked me, just whoop! There goes your brother, off to the land of vicious grizzlies."

Bull shrugged. "Hey, I hear there's still a dragon out in the Hinterlands. We can pay Yorick a visit if you wanna go kill it."

Rhyleigh sighed into his hand. "Yeah, lemme do that, lemme just go kill the fucker to visit Yori for two days, like yeah, maybe I'll get roasted to death, my insides boiling and my outsides charred and prob'ly loss of limbs...." He trailed off, letting his head sink into his arms.

Varric laughed. "I'm sorry, I can't understand you when you're drunk." 

"Yeah, I thought the accent was bad before," Bull said, shaking his horned head. "You sound like a Dalish."

"Oi!" Rhyleigh barked, looking up. "What the fuck you mean - I don't - I sound like a _Marcher_ , like Starkhaven and Kirkwall and Ostwick and the _Free fucking Marches_. It's _different_." 

"You still roll your words around like a bag of marbles," said the Qunari.

"Well, fuck you and your flat words that don't roll and-"

Varric held up a hand, confusing Rhyleigh for a moment before he realized he was supposed to be quiet. The conversation throughout the tavern had hushed, and, after looking around, he finally realized what had happened. 

The Tevinter mage, Dorian Pavus, had just entered the establishment. The Templars and Inquisition soldiers who had so recently fought and lost friends to Tevinter mages looked like they were about to start a fight.

But Dorian, oddly enough, ignored them. He strolled in, smiling and bidding hello to the patrons, then walked right up to the bar and requested an ale. The dwarf couldn't have cared less and gave him what he asked for without batting an eyelash. A Templar nearby, however, was not so accommodating.

"Go back to where you came from, Vint," he said lowly from his table.

Dorian merely glanced at him, never losing his smirk. "Would that I could, Serah, but I fear I'm no longer welcome there."

The mutterings began to start, people who wanted to call out like the first but not quite brave enough to try. And then Rhyleigh heard it.

_"Vint bastard."_

When Rhyleigh was sixteen years old, his parents had begun to drag him to social gatherings in the hopes of making him worth the trouble of keeping him. At one such party, Rhyleigh had discovered the wonders of good alcohol, and how beautifully it loosened one's tongue. Not for getting information, but for stepping up to say things he might previously have been too afraid of his mother to say. And when he heard someone murmuring about Templars, about how they were pious but mindless and were basically no good at all were it not for the lyrium, he'd unleashed the full force of his sharp tongue upon them. They had been nobles of higher standing than the Trevelyans, and it had taken the family years to recover from the embarrassment. He was usually not allowed alcohol while in the family's presence after that.

Skyhold was different.

"Oi!" he barked, attempting to launch to his feet, though Bull had to save him from pitching right onto his face. The tavern hushed again, startled by his sudden interruption. Half of them hadn't even known he was there. He moved over to Dorian, only wobbling a little, and the mage actually looked shocked.

"This isn't necessary, your holiness," he began.

"No, shut up, I'm talking," Rhyleigh said, holding up a hand. He looked around at the tavern patrons. "This is Dorian of House Pavus, and he _ran_ from the Venatori troops so he could reach us in time. Without him, we wouldn't have known what the fuck was going on and we'd all be dead. I don't _care_ if he's a mage or a Tevinter or what have you, he didn't do anything to us, did he? Is that what the Inquisition's gonna be? Lynching people because we don't like them? This isn't the fucking Orlesian Empire, leave him the hell alone."

The Templars and soldiers looked away, sufficiently cowed for a moment, though some still cast dark looks Dorian's way. Rhyleigh was satisfied with his efforts, so he turned to lean against the bar as the world started turning a little.

"Well, color me impressed," Dorian said, looking pleased. "I hadn't expected a gallant knight to jump to my defense. And one with such a charming accent on top of his chivalry."

"Yeah, well, I find your accent very... Tevinter," he replied falteringly.

Dorian let out a laugh, the sound of which caused Rhyleigh to smile. "Incredible. Wit sharper than a Seeker's blade. What _would_ people say if they thought Andraste's Herald was flirting with an evil mage?"

Rhyleigh smirked and leaned up. "You know, they say if you're looking for Andraste," he murmured, "you should get on your knees."

Dorian laughed again, louder this time, unable to even look at the Inquisitor. "Maker, you're impossible!"

The blame was to be placed on the alcohol, for things like this usually happened when Rhyleigh drank too much, but it was also the captivating beauty and charisma of this man that had Ryleigh leaning forward for a kiss.

Dorian put a hand on his mouth to stop him, leaning close with a dangerous sort of smirk. "Be careful with that tongue, your worship," he said lowly. "You never know what someone might do with it." He reached past Rhyleigh, pressing close to him, then took his mug of ale and left.

Rhyleigh heaved a sigh, letting out a muttered curse, then made his way back over to his table. Varric was laughing, and the Iron Bull was blatantly refusing to look at the Inquisitor.

"Andraste's tits, Broody," the dwarf chuckled. "Who knew you liked to herd the black sheep?"

"If you were looking for a good metaphor, that wasn't it," Bull said.

"You're gonna have to suck up that attitude, Bull," Rhyleigh said, leaning back in his chair. "He's gonna help us kill that dragon."

"Does _he_ know that?" Bull asked as Varric roared with laughter.

"He likes my accent, Bull. I make it roll a little more, he'll do it," he said confidently.

Bull shook his head. "I think you need to pack it in, boss, before you make any other stupid decisions." 

Rhyleigh straightened up again. "Before I make - no, I don't - no, Bull, _you_ make stupid decisions. Like, Cole said it, right? Iron _Bull_? Could've been Iron _Dragon_ but you didn't-"

"I don't understand a word he's saying," Bull said.

Varric, still laughing, got up and pried Rhyleigh out of his chair. "Okay, I'll get him back to his room. I think he's had enough fun."

Bull just waved a hand, drained his tankard, then got up to go back to his Chargers as the other two left.

. . .

The dragon slaying would have to wait.

For now, there were alliances to make if they had any hope of getting invited to the Empress' Masquerade, and there was the matter of Hawke and the Wardens to deal with, as well as the Venatori still scattered across Thedas, so the dragons would be left until they actually started invading towns (much to Bull's disappointment).

The day after the incident in the tavern, Rhyleigh had largely forgotten what happened and was back to work. In his hand was a sheaf of notes, and he pushed the door open to the rotunda off the great hall, pausing for a moment as he noticed the paint splashed on the walls. "Solas?"

The elf paused in his work, turning around. "Ah, Inquisitor. I am in the process of painting-"

"Didn't ask," Rhyleigh interrupted, and he held up his notes. "I need any information you might have about Corypheus."

Solas raised an eyebrow, gently placing his brush back in the paint. "We already spoke of this on the journey to Skyhold. I assumed you would speak to Hawke or to Varric on the subject, as they are the ones who know the most."

"Right, yeah, but I'm asking _you_ ," Rhyleigh said. "You've got the Fade-walker perspective, all your little spirit friends. Are you telling me you don't have _anything_ for me?"

Solas opened his mouth to give a slightly annoyed remark when the chance to speak was stolen from him.

"Ah! I thought I recognized that accent!" called a voice from above.

They both looked up to see Dorian leaning against the railing, giving Rhyleigh a little wave. "Care to continue that promising start from yesterday?"

Rhyleigh's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Dorian's smile only widened. "Ah, well. Opportunity missed, then. Carry on!"

Rhyleigh pushed his notes into Solas' hands with a muttered, "Hold these," then went up the stairs to the upper library. He paused at the top, looking at the mage who was currently looking at him with unwarranted humor. "Promising start?" he asked.

Dorian's elegant mustache twitched. "I believe your words were, 'If you're looking for Andraste, you should get on your knees.'"

Rhyleigh would not have believed those words had come from his mouth if he heard himself say them. He merely stared at Dorian for a moment, mentally calculating the possibility of a Rift opening up and swallowing him then and there. As that was unlikely, he was forced to improvise. "Well, if you've decided to take me up on the offer, I fear this isn't the best spot. Solas would certainly take action if he heard anything unsavory." Because if he started getting into trouble, the plan was usually to make it _even worse_.

Dorian merely laughed. "I can't imagine your advisers approve of you speaking like this. And that makes it all the better, in my humble opinion." He shook his head. "Although I am disappointed. Your muddled mess of an accent is far less pronounced when you're not intoxicated. Perhaps we should remedy that."

Rhyleigh would have taken that offer. Except that there was still an elf downstairs that he needed to talk to, and sundry other items on his list that had to be done before sundown that day. "You'll have to make an appointment through Josephine. My valuable time isn't shared with just anyone," he said.

Dorian nodded, looking away. "Yes, that is true. I only thought to congratulate you on your promotion, belated as it may be. Well-earned after that dive you took in Haven. I've... been meaning to thank you for that, actually."

Rhyleigh's brow furrowed. "I didn't do it for you," he said.

A chuckle escaped from Dorian. "No, of course not. But no one is _going_ to thank you, and I thought I might as well be the one to do it."

Rhyleigh narrowed his eyes slightly, looking in the mage's face for any sign of contempt, waiting for following ridicule, but there was none. "You're... you're having me, aren't you?"

"Maker, are you usually this terrible with gratitude, or is it just me?" Dorian said with exasperation. "If it'll make you feel any better, I retract the thanks. There, now no one has thanked you and it's as it should be."

Rhyleigh frowned at him. "Well, you've said it yourself, people don't thank you for saving a village, they just call you a prophet and think that covers it."

"And are you?" Dorian asked.

"Fuck no. Whole religion's shite if you ask me. Have you seen what invoking the name of the Maker has done for everyone else?"

Dorian shook his head with a smile. "With every word, you drift further from the image Tevinter has of a fearsome holy figurehead."

"Oh, now you're insulting me, then?"

"Not at all," said the mage. "I'm quite pleased with what I see. Makes staying here instead of going home a bit easier." He leaned back against a bookshelf, crossing his arms. "And you defended me in front of all of your men without a care. That isn't something I'm likely to forget."

Rhyleigh waved a hand, almost rolling his eyes. "I was drunk, you were mildly attractive, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Don't mention it."

Dorian grinned, inclining his head. "Then I'll never speak of it again, your worship."

Rhyleigh hesitated before leaving, because there was a certain heat in Dorian's gaze that confused him. It was better to leave the area than try to figure it out, however, so he merely nodded and awkwardly retreated back down the steps. 

He hoped with all his might that the look Solas was giving him throughout their following conversation wasn't because he'd heard everything on the floor above.


	7. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters going up in a row because I already put them on Tumblr a while ago

There were many times when Inquisitor Rhyleigh Trevelyan was on top of his game. Bantering with Varric, fighting demons, bantering with Sera, closing Rifts, bantering with Dorian, fighting bears (sometimes... only sometimes), and, importantly, making Cassandra so angry she had to go hit a practice dummy for two hours at a time. He took great joy in being on top of his game. No one questioned it much anymore, they either laughed it away or scoffed in annoyance, wondering why they hadn't expected such behavior in the first place. He liked creating those low expectations for himself.

Even though he knew, he always knew, he could do so much better.

And when he was reminded of that, it was usually by someone who was so sure, so damn sure, that he couldn't. 

Like a letter from home.

Josephine had handed him his sheaf of mail in the war room. Most articles in the stack had been missives and reports from the various operations in effect, but one had been personal, and he'd slipped it away to read later in private. Reading it in front of his advisors, especially the quick-eyed Leliana, was sure to raise questions, so he just waited. 

He didn't really need to read it, anyway (even though he did). Setting standard expectations must have been a talent that ran in the family. Though details varied from letter to letter, the meat of the matter was usually, _Don't fuck this up like you always do._

Oh, but then again, there was a little more meat on this one.

_A lord in Starkhaven has a daughter. He's offered a marriage for political reasons. If you are to make your relation to this family useful, you will take this one._

_The proper documents and plans will be sent when I have them._

A long breath hissed out of his mouth. Couldn't do anything useful except sign his life away. Not that he wasn't already busy with the fate of the world, but the fate of the Trevelyans always came first. Of course, his father hadn't quite kept that in mind, so why should the product of such a mistake be any different?

Rhyleigh dropped the letter onto his desk, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. A mistake. That's usually what he amounted to. The mistake Trevelyan, the accidental Herald, the "you were the convenient choice" Inquisitor. Maker, what had he doomed this world to?

"Oh, dear, I seem to be interrupting work."

Rhyleigh sprang to his feet, hand covering the letter on instinct as though the intruder could see it from where he stood. "Ah, Dorian," he said, flashing a smile like everything was fine. Always, everything was always fine. "When is work ever more important than you?" he quipped.

Dorian chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped forward. "See, that is exactly why I'm here," he said, leaning against one of the posts on the Inquisitor's bed. "You have a smart tongue, _Inquisitor_. I'd like to see it put to good use."

Rhyleigh swallowed hard, and it suddenly occurred to him that Dorian being in his bedchamber was probably a rather inappropriate thing. And Dorian was probably well aware of that. "Is it not useful enough now?" he asked. It was meant as another retort, except he actually did mean it this time.

"Oh, of course," said the mage, waving a hand. "All this flirting you do is very nice. It coaxed me here to your very chambers, did it not?" He stepped forward, his gaze gaining a heated, almost dark look. A very Tevinter look. "But I am not a nice man."

Rhyleigh swallowed again, willing a witty retort to come to his lips, but Dorian was very close now, and now he had his hand on Rhyleigh's chin, and now the Inquisitor was scrambling and papers were scattering to the floor and-

And they were kissing and it was at once the most horrible and the most fantastic moment of the bastard's life.

Dorian was grinning devilishly when he pulled away. "You seemed so terrified of little old me," he said.

Rhyleigh put on a grin in return. "I just prefer the bed," were the words that came out of his mouth, even though in his life he wouldn't know what he preferred. 

Dorian merely shook his head in amusement. "Then show me the way, your holiness."

Rhyleigh wished he wasn't blushing. Rhyleigh wished he actually did know the way, because Dorian was a man from a rich household who'd been doted upon all his life, who was a brilliant scholar, who had done incredible things like help invent time-bending magic and wanted to do incredible things like save Tevinter from itself. Dorian was a man who'd been with other men and who knew who he was and what he could do and had no trouble whatsoever letting the world know that he was fantastic in every fiber of his existence.

And here Rhyleigh had never let any part of him expand past himself.

But what he said was, "Just follow my lead."

And the first thing that happened was Dorian's head knocking against the bedpost.

"I - I - erm, I'm sorry, that wasn't-"

"Oh, shut up," Dorian laughed, giving the Inquisitor a burning kiss. 

Rhyleigh thought maybe removing clothes was the next bit. He began to fiddle with the buckles on Dorian's tunic, but there was quite an impressive number of buckles, and he wasn't entirely certain what he was doing anyway. Luckily, Dorian became impatient, and just began to strip the both of them while feverishly planting kisses along Rhyleigh's jaw, his neck, his collarbone, and further down when it became available.

A strange whirlwind was erupting in Rhyleigh's mind. On the one hand, he was completely new to all of this and was desperate to seem like he wasn't. On the other hand, every touch from Dorian was making his mind fog, his knees weak, making him want to just jump all over him anyway without a care that he didn't know how. He'd wanted Dorian almost since he'd met him. The renegade Tevinter was everything he wished he knew to be. 

And he was just thinking he might be able to fake his way through this one when the trousers came down, and suddenly he was as red as the Inquisition dress uniforms.

"Embarrassed, are we?" Dorian's tone was playful, as it always was, but his eyes were different. His face was flushed, because _he_ was excited, _he_ was just as willing to have the Inquisitor all to himself. And those eyes, they weren't taunting, or displeased. In all his life, Rhyleigh never thought he'd been looked at the way Dorian was looking at him right then.

Another witty comeback eluded him, leading to stammering that he couldn't quite stop. And that was when Dorian figured it out.

"This... is your first time, isn't it?" he asked, one hand on the place where Rhyleigh's jaw met his neck. The answering blush was all he needed. "Maker, I've found a fresh spring daisy!"

Rhyleigh found himself scowling. "Would a daisy do this?" He moved in on Dorian's neck, hand sliding down his freshly naked torso, but Dorian pushed him back.

"No, no, none of that, now," said the mage, utter amusement in his voice. He put his fingers under Rhyleigh's chin, forcing him to meet his eye. "No showing off or any of that. Let _me_ lead this dance."

It was difficult, but, for the moment, Rhyleigh let go. He let Dorian do what he wanted, because at least the mage actually _knew_ what he wanted beyond a vague _I want him_. And Dorian kissed him so warmly, so fully, he knew he would never be the same.

Especially after Dorian dropped to his knees.

If he'd thought his mind was spinning before, it was nothing compared to now. He tried not to be too new, too inexperienced, but all the talk he thought was dirty only made Dorian laugh. And when the mage was through kneeling, he pushed the Inquisitor onto the bed, teasing him and torturing him, showing him things his body did, things his body _wanted_ , that Rhyleigh had never known before himself. Try as he might, it was too hard to keep up the confident facade, too hard to play the bigshot when Dorian was murmuring such gentle things in his ear, giving such specific direction without Rhyleigh needing to ask, because of _course_ the man wouldn't ask. It was senseless to fake a smile when a mage was fucking him into the mattress and all he could do was swear to the Maker in between gasps, the air never enough to satisfy whatever it was he needed so desperately inside. It was so stupid to act like he didn't care when suddenly the pains in his soul were announced loudly and wordlessly, rushing away from him to be replaced by utter ecstasy. It was impossible to be snarky Rhyleigh Trevelyan, never good enough Trevelyan, accident Trevelyan, when Dorian Pavus was telling him how beautiful he was as he came down from the clouds.

For one night, something fantastic wasn't a mistake.

. . .

The sheets were still warm around him. His body was still loose. His arse was hurting like a bitch, though. But he was happy, happy that someone saw through him and it had all ended up alright, anyway. Happy that next time wouldn't be the first time. Happy that Dorian Pavus had felt him worth the time to bed.

But when he went to reach for the mage, he felt nothing. 

His eyes fluttered open, panic entering his heart for a moment as he looked at the empty space. Then,

"You didn't tell me you were already taken."

Rhyleigh blinked, first relieved that Dorian hadn't actually left, then confused by the remark. He turned, looking at the still naked mage, admiring the bronze skin gleaming in the morning light. "Pardon?" he drawled, running a hand through his hair. 

"Unsurprising, I suppose," Dorian continued casually. "I'm sure there are hundreds lining up to marry the mighty Inquisitor, for all your power and good looks." He finally turned, and Rhyleigh felt his stomach drop away as he noticed the letter held in Dorian's hand. "Although, for future reference, it's polite to tell your lover when you have, ah, previous engagements."

Rhyleigh's mouth opened, and for a moment, he had nothing to say. He didn't know what to say, what Dorian wanted to hear. "It - Dorian, it's not...." He really wanted to say, _I'm not marrying her_ , but that wasn't exactly a choice he was currently in a position to make. "It wasn't my decision," he finally said quietly.

With a softened expression, Dorian moved to sit beside him on the bed, kissing his temple. "I know," he murmured. "Your mother's wording his hardly ambiguous."

Rhyleigh ran a hand through his hair, feeling caught in a tangle too tight for him to move. "I'd only just read the damn thing before you walked in, and I sort of... didn't think about it after that. I didn't think about much."

"Ah, well, thank you for the compliment," Dorian said with a smirk, earning a slight shove. Then the smile faded. "It isn't as though I'm unfamiliar with the situation, you realize. Blood rituals, and all that. Although I'm afraid your parents still know where their child is and, therefore, still have a hold on the leash."

Rhyleigh grimaced at the image. "Only one is my parent," he muttered, looking away. He hadn't told anyone before. People knew, of course, especially Cassandra and his advisors. But he'd never told anyone himself, by his own volition. 

Dorian's lips parted slightly in surprise. "Ah," he said after a moment, wrapping an arm around the Inquisitor. "I see now. Is that what all of this is about, then? The flippancy, staying with the Inquisition, the man in your bed - are these all a large, obscene gesture in the general direction of Ostwick? Because if so, I'm impressed at the sheer size of the gesture you've conjured."

Rhyleigh felt his cheeks burning, but this time it wasn't from embarrassment. It was... shame? Some awful feeling in his gut because Dorian didn't seem to understand at all? "You weren't... aren't... part of the obscenities," he said quietly.

Dorian looked at him, eyebrows pulling together slightly. "You... mean that, do you?" he asked, voice not nearly as controlled as it usually was.

"How often do I say something and sound like I mean it?" Rhyleigh shot back. He shook his head, disliking his own tone. "Of course I mean it."

He heard Dorian exhale, saw a slight smile tug at his lips. "I was hoping.... But, anyway-" He held up the letter, looking at Rhyleigh. "There is still this matter. A lady of Starkhaven has been promised your hand. Shall I duel her?"

Rhyleigh snorted, feeling some of the dread and discomfort ease from around his heart. 

Then, with a satisfied look in his eye, Dorian promptly burned the letter to nothing but ash, right there on the bed. "You know what I think?" he said, pushing Rhyleigh back until he was hovering over the man.

"What?" he asked.

"I think she doesn't know you," said the mage. "I think none of them do. They've never seen that great hammer of yours come down hard enough to shatter the earth. They've never watched you face a horde of demons that would have had them clawing their own eyes out." He began punctuating his sentences with kisses, one on the forehead, one on the cheek, one on the nose. "I don't think any of them heard you throw snark in the face of Corypheus himself just because you were filled with too much spite to let him win." He bent down, kissing Rhyleigh deeply on the lips. "And," he added, his voice a warm, delicious whisper, "I think they don't know your 'uses' are designed less for keeping you rich and more for saving the entirety of Thedas. Quite the destiny, if you ask me."

Rhyleigh smiled, humming contentedly as Dorian bestowed him with another kiss. "Well, when you put it like that, I suppose I am quite an excellent creature," he said.

"Now now," Dorian warned with a gleam in his eye. "I _am_ still here, aren't I?"

Rhyleigh merely smiled and pulled him down so they could lie pressed against one another. The ashes were still scattered across the bed, and he had no inclination of cleaning them off anytime soon.


	8. Hero

" _Cassandra_!" 

The Seeker shut her eyes and groaned at the sound of the whine. " _What_ , Inquisitor?" she bit out, turning to face him.

Rhyleigh held up his forearm, which had a shallow, largely harmless gash striped across it. "I have an injury!" he cried.

Just when she thought he couldn't get any worse. "You're a warrior!" she exclaimed. "You shouldn't be able to go two days without injury! That is nothing!"

"But I'm a _good_ warrior," he retorted, and was pleased that he nearly brought her to the point of fire coming out of her ears. "And it's _cold_ ," he continued, wrapping his arms around himself.

"We're in the Emprise in winter, _of course it's cold_!" she snapped. 

He gave her his sweetest smile. "Ah, but your frothing rage keeps me _so_ warm."

She threw her hands in the air with a disgusted noise, stalking away from him to possibly go hit a tree. He grinned, probably too proud of himself for doing something he seemed to accomplish effortlessly. 

"Cold, Amatus?" said an amused voice, and he felt Dorian's arms wrap around him.

Warmth began to seep in through his layers of armor, and he sighed contentedly. "Ah, yes, there's my Tevinter slave, _finally_ doing something useful."

"Oh, you are naughty," Dorian said with a playful nip at the Inquisitor's reddened ear. 

"Oh, gross!" Sera whined from her seat on the limb of a tree. "Bloody disgusting, you are. Having fun?"

"Oh, just boatloads," Rhyleigh replied, still unable to help a shiver despite Dorian's help. "We're in the ass-end of the Empire fighting lyrium-addled Templars for people we don't even like, and who don't particularly like us. I'm having a _fantastic_ time."

Sera grinned, slipping out of the tree so she could stand by the boys. She was shivering, too, and with her slight frame, it was no surprise that she was colder than any of them. "Got any room there in that magical boyfriend?" 

"Ah, usually just the one fits, but I suppose I'll make an exception," Dorian said with a grin, opening his arms so she could step into his little embrace of warmth. She hopped right in, squishing herself against the mage and the Inquisitor. "So I suppose you're alright with magic now, yes?"

"Oh, shut it, some things are better than freezing your arse off." She pointedly didn't look at him, as though physically refusing to acknowledge that she was letting magic help her for once. 

As the trio huddled for warmth, Rhyleigh took a look around to see where Cassandra had gone. He was starting to feel uncomfortable and wasn't sure where the source of the feeling came from. They'd already defeated the Red Templars in the area, all that was left now was to take a moment to catch their breath and then return to camp. It just felt a little too quiet.

He scanned the half-crumbled stone walls around them, searching for any rogue archer or assassin that had escaped their notice, waiting for a moment to strike. All was still, calm.

Then he stiffened slightly, swearing that a lump of rubble on top of the wall had shifted over. His heart jumped into his throat when he actually _saw_ it move, and then he realized it wasn't part of the wall at all.

" _Cass_!" he cried, breaking away from Sera and Dorian and sprinting off for the Seeker. His heart was pounding so hard in his ears he couldn't hear anything else. If he didn't make it in time....

She was seated on a rock sharpening her blade, entirely unaware of the giant looming behind her, ready to strike. Rhyleigh poured on all the speed in his body, nearly leaping in order to shove her off the rock in time. They weren't far away when the boulder was pulverized by the giant's club, showering them with bits of rock and dust. 

Cassandra barely needed a moment to get her bearings. "His knees!" she cried, pushing herself up and snatching her shield, ready to intercept the next blow while Rhyleigh got to his feet. As this was happening, he felt the comforting sensation of one of Dorian's magical barriers forming around him. _Now_ , they were ready to fight. 

The giant roared, angry that he'd been awakened and more angry that he seemed to keep missing his mark. These tiny creatures were faster than most, and they had heavy weapons and sharp weapons and fire that combined to stymie his attempts at attack. The two throwing things at him like sharp sticks and lightning were too far away for a good swing. The skinny one had a shield and she was too hard to knock down. But the other one... all he had was a club, and the giant knew how to fight people with clubs. 

Rhyleigh struck a shattering blow to the giant's kneecap while Cassandra had him distracted, effectively bringing the creature down to a more manageable height. He pulled back for another heavy strike - maybe in the ribs so Cassandra would be open for a shot at his heart - when the giant took advantage of the opening his backswing gave him. The large club plowed into his middle, tossing him off to the side, and he _immediately_ knew his armor was severely dented and that it was going to be _very_ hard to remove. His ears were ringing so that he could barely hear his companions calling his name, mind spinning and vision completely useless for the moment. He tried to push himself up again, but that wasn't exactly working out. With a muttered curse, he stayed on the ground and waited for the world to right itself again.

Not long after, there was a sound halfway between a roar and screech that had his ears ringing all over again, and then a great vibration in the ground that helped absolutely _nothing_. He tried to get up again, pushing his upper body out of the snow and feeling only blinding pain.

"Inquisitor!" he heard Cassandra cry, and she was the first to kneel next to him. 

"I'm fine," he croaked, eyes shut against the feeling of all the bones on his right side being shattered. 

She tsked, pulling back his cloak to get a look at the damage. "I thought you were a _good_ warrior," she muttered, but he heard so much concern in her voice that he knew it didn't look good. 

Knees dropped down near his head, and then two sets of hands were helping to gently roll him onto his back. "Look at me, Amatus, open your eyes," Dorian said, his voice a beat faster than usual.

"I'm not going to _die_ , Dorian," Rhyleigh muttered, though just saying so made a wave of pain crash over him. 

"You had me fooled!" said the mage shakily. 

"Oi! I've got these!" Sera said, kneeling beside the Inquisitor with a clinking armful of healing positions.

"Not too many, we need him conscious enough to get to camp," Cassandra warned. While Dorian fed him the potions, she managed to unlatch and pry off Rhyleigh's damaged breastplate, although it took quite the effort and a lot of pain on Rhyleigh's end. At least when she was done he felt like he could breathe again.

"He tore right through it," she said, holding it up for them to see. There were a few places that had holes pierced through, or jagged slashes parting the metal. She tsked with disapproval. "I'll have to speak with Master Harret about his craftsmanship."

"Mm, that one wasn't Harret," Rhyleigh groaned, keeping an arm wrapped around his middle. "Got that from Val Royeaux."

She set the armor down roughly, giving him a look. "How many times have you been told Orlesian armor is the _worst_ armor? Ferelden would have done you better, and even Tevinter armor has enchantments to make up for the frailties. You _never_ settle for Orlesian when you can have better."

"Yeah, but the Orlesian made me look exquisite," he coughed, pulling a weak smile from Dorian and another disgusted grunt from Cassandra.

"You prissy nobles, all the same," Sera said with a roll of her eyes. "That's why the giant hit you, y'know. You went into battle lookin' too pretty."

Rhyleigh wanted to keep up the banter, wanted to pretend everything was fine, but currently he felt like a broken toy and it was starting to hinder his ability to think. He let his head fall back, exhaling slowly. "If I admit I was wrong, can you _please_ get me out of the snow?" he said in a trembling voice. 

Together, his three companions carefully got him to his feet, then Cassandra and Dorian supported nearly the whole of his weight as they made the slow trek back to the nearest camp.

. . .

Rhyleigh was relegated to nothing but bedrest by the field healer until such arrangements could be made to get him back to Skyhold. According to her, the damage was thus: a mild concussion, three broken ribs, a fractured elbow, bruised hip, and a massive amount of bruising and cracked skin all down his right side. She said it was a wonder he'd been able to get up at all. Most people swatted aside by a giant didn't walk away again. 

He'd already been chastised by Dorian. Perhaps leaving himself open and vulnerable in battle had been unavoidable, considering the Inquisitor's class. But the choice in armor was one mistake he would never, _ever_ be making again, and, as far as Sera was concerned, she'd be throwing a rock armor potion at him before every battle henceforth. 

And he deserved that, he knew. He usually did. Whenever he made a bad decision in the interests of garnering attention, or pleasing himself, he was usually the one hurt. It just felt nice to have someone other than his brother care about that for once. 

When he awoke on the third day after the giant fight, Cassandra was in his tent in the midst of placing fresh water beside the bed. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he knew there would be no pity from her. "Feeling rested yet, Inquisitor?" she asked dryly.

"You wouldn't believe how little sleep you get when you have three broken ribs," he replied. "Maker, I'm tired. I never get any sleep around here, even when that's all I'm told to do. Everyone keeps bothering me all the time. Like that healer. 'How many fingers am I holding up? Can you breathe properly? Why is there blood on the sheets?' Maker, she's a fussy one."

She rolled her eyes, then took up a seat on a stool. "You can stop pretending you're a spoiled idiot."

He gave her a sidelong look. "But I _am_ a spoiled idiot."

"I admit, you could have had me fooled," she said, leaning against her knees. "But I know better. Especially now. You don't just function on pure spite, Inquisitor. Pettiness doesn't save people from giants."

Well, she'd caught him. He supposed it was only a matter of time. "Does that mean you've forgiven me for the 'good warrior' comment?" he asked with a grin.

"Absolutely not," she said, though her eyes glittered with amusement. "But I do thank you for saving my life. Sometimes I wish you were always so valiant." She got to her feet, heading for the tent entrance, then she paused. "But... it isn't my place to tell you how to act, is it? I should be grateful that you can still do what you do, that you still fight tooth and nail for us to gain the upper hand, despite how hard you try to appear differently. You are a strange hero, Rhyleigh, but a hero nonetheless." With a final nod, she stepped out of the tent.

For a moment, Rhyleigh didn't feel so burdened down with pain. First Dorian, now Cassandra. It might have just been him, but he was starting to feel like maybe these people actually followed him for a reason _other_ than his title. And he couldn't imagine where they'd gotten such an inclination.


	9. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And a third, I suppose, because this is basically a chapter of nothing

Being 6'4'' and 270 pounds of muscle meant Rhyleigh was very much not accustomed to being the weak one. However, it seemed a giant could change dynamics like that in a trice.

Once the Inquisitor was finally transported to Skyhold for safer recovery, he found the majority of the things he liked to do were out of reach, but that he suddenly had time for all of the things he disliked doing, such as paperwork. It was during long hours of this particular responsibility that he was more than happy for Dorian's convenient interruptions. Even if they couldn't exactly get very physical.

"Your brashness will get you into real trouble someday," said the mage as they sat in the sun in the courtyard.

Rhyleigh grinned, tilting his head back. "It hasn't already?" When Dorian smiled, he sat up a bit more. "Let's review: I ran off to the conclave to go spy on people my parents never wanted me to be involved with, and I became the fabled Herald of Andraste. When I decided to stick around instead of going home, I became an ancient magister's most wanted. Then I had a village collapse on top of me. Where in that do you say I'm not in trouble?"

Dorian put a gentle hand on his shoulder, careful not to aggravate the injuries. "You forgot that now you're... what is it they're saying... _in league_ with an evil Tevinter mage, and now your soul is being stolen."

Rhyleigh snorted. "As though I had one to begin one."

Dorian looked shocked. "Don't go saying things like that _now_. If you haven't got a soul, then what is there for me to steal?"

The Inquisitor gave an emotional sniff, putting a hand over his chest and turning large eyes to Dorian. "Only my heart, Amatus."

The mage swatted his knee. "Don't go mocking me, either."

Rhyleigh merely laughed. He appreciated Dorian's humor. He appreciated a lot of things about the mage, particularly the little things he did that weren't quite so little: the way Dorian scoffed at things before Rhyleigh had a chance to feel hurt by them, like snatching scathing letters away and reading them aloud in his worst impression of an Orlesian aristocrat, or the way he'd recently stayed to Rhyleigh's right as though to guard tender bruises, or how, despite all his bravado, he never made a single move without knowing he had Rhyleigh's permission.

It had been established before, and would continue to be established: between the two, Dorian was the better man. It left Rhyleigh wondering how he'd deserved such a good thing.

"Are you alright, Amatus?" Dorian asked. "You've gone disturbingly quiet. I'm not fond of your silence, you know."

Rhyleigh sighed, shifting slightly as the breath pained him. "I'm tired," he lied. 

"Of course you are!" Dorian got to his feet, gallantly offering a hand to help Rhyleigh up. "Suppose that means time for bed, then, yes?"

Rhyleigh felt the familiar warmth from Dorian's teasing and prepared to retire back to his chambers, when something familiar and entirely welcome caught his eye. "What the hell are you doing here?" he crowed, a smile splashed across his face.

A large man made his way across the courtyard with a grin to match the Inquisitor's. "Coming to see if you were half dead like everyone said!" he replied, throwing his arms wide to wrap Rhyleigh in a hug. He stopped suddenly, looking with uncertainty at Rhyleigh's sling. "You're... not half dead, right?"

"Only the right side of me," he replied, leaning in to give a partial hug. "Dorian, this is my older brother, Yorick. I don't think you've met, Cullen's had him off helping with the mess in the Hinterlands for months."

Dorian's smile suddenly became guarded, and he took a slight step back. "Ah, yes. The Templar knight-commander. We met very briefly during the attack on Haven."

Yorick was not oblivious to Dorian's distrust, but he continued to smile in spite of it. "And you are the beautiful mage my dear brother's told me so much about."

Dorian cocked an eyebrow. "Beautiful?" he said with a smirk, looking at a reddening Rhyleigh.

"I believe the exact words were, 'physique of the gods dusted by sunlight, containing a soul of utter brilliance and charm.'" Yorick winked at his brother. "Committed _that_ particular flowery bit to memory."

"Again I ask, _why_ are you here?" Rhyleigh groaned, avoiding looking at his Tevinter lover.

Yorick stepped back a bit, his smile fading as he looked again at the sling, at the bruises still visible past Rhyleigh's clothes. "I wasn't kidding, Rhyles. Cullen called me back saying you'd been seriously injured. _Usually_ that situation means someone's about to die."

Rhyleigh rubbed the back of his neck, beginning to feel guilty. It wasn't that he hadn't written to Yorick after the incident, it was just that he'd neglected to actually say there had been an incident. It had been an attempt to not worry his brother. Apparently, the opposite had occurred.

"Let me see," Yorick said, no longer smiling.

With a sigh, Rhyleigh reached up to begin unbuttoning his jacket one-handed. If anyone else had asked this of him, he'd have downright refused. It wasn't in him to let others see either his pain or the results of his own stupidity, but Yorick was allowed. Yorick had earned that right a long, long time ago.

The man sucked in a breath at the perfectly terrible myriad of colors blooming across the right half of Rhyleigh's body, and even Dorian had to look away. "Maker.... That's a giant's work, eh?" he asked, peering closer at the damaged skin.

"Erm... yeah," Rhyleigh said, pulling the jacket together. Dorian assisted in getting it closed again. "But, not dying, so your sprint here was for naught."

"Not so fast," Yorick chuckled. "I'm not going back to the Hinterlands or Ostwick. The commander thought it best I stay on here. Since you recruited the Templars, he figures more help is needed here from whatever officers are left."

Rhyleigh's eyes lit up, though he tried to keep his reaction light and casual. "Ah, good. Yeah, we could use the help, thanks. Hopefully Josephine arranged a good room for you."

"Nah. She's a lovely lady, your ambassador, tried to give me one of the rooms upstairs. But I'm in the barracks with the rest of the men," Yorick said, rolling his shoulders. "I'm not some noble prat with my own suite, complete with balconies."

Rhyleigh felt his face reddening, felt a mingling of embarrassment and anger in his chest. "Listen, Yori, you wanna-"

"Relax," he laughed, waving a hand. "I'm teasing. Maker knows you need the space. Although, from what I hear, you don't use the room much, anyway."

"Not until recently, no," Rhyleigh replied, calming down again.

Yorick nodded, still amused, then leaned forward to give his brother another half-embrace. "I'd better put my things away, then we can meet for lunch, yeah?"

"Yeah," Rhyleigh said, holding on for a moment longer than necessary. "I'm glad you're back, by the way."

Yorick gave a gentle squeeze. "I know," he murmured before stepping back. He gave Dorian a nod. "Master Pavus. Don't go off hexing my brother, now."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied, though his smile was a bit tight. Once Yorick had walked away, he visibly relaxed. "Ah, wonderful. Templar officers in your very powerful lover's family is always such a fantastic bonus."

"He's not like the other Templars, Dorian," Rhyleigh said. "He's more of the 'protecting people' sort rather than strictly 'hunt mages.'"

"Some would say that's one and the same," Dorian said.

"No, it's not...." Rhyleigh ran a hand through his hair. "Listen, he's got a scar on his face because of me. I was being a little shit as usual and some lord pulled a sword on me. Yorick took the hit instead. He's not interested in seeing people get hurt, he's here to keep people safe. If that includes mages, then that includes mages."

Dorian looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Alright. I suppose I can be a tad quick to judge at times. Anyone who stands between you and the trouble you get into must be a valiant soul indeed."

Rhyleigh rolled his eyes. "I don't even know why he did it, to be honest. I never-" He paused, unexpectedly feeling a light kiss on his jaw. He felt his face going red as he looked down at the grinning mage.

"If I wasn't worried about what it might do to this beautiful visage, I would do the same," he said.

Rhyleigh made a face at him. "Well, don't ever do it, then. Your pretty face is the only reason I can stand your presence."

"Of course I'll keep up my image," Dorian laughed, putting a hand on the side of Rhyleigh's face. " _One_ of us still needs to be bearable to look upon."


	10. The Obligatory Masquerade

Once Rhyleigh had fully recovered from the battle with the giant, Josephine none too gently reminded him that the time for the Empress' Masquerade was fast approaching, and he had better be prepared for it. Of course, he wasn't, and no amount of time, great or small, was going to change that. He would rather have had Haven collapse on top of him all over again than stand in a ballroom with people that might know his family.

But, business was business, and Corypheus had as many plans for that evening as anyone else. Rhyleigh was forced bodily into the dress uniforms, told it looked absolutely dashing with his gray hair, and shipped off to the Winter Palace.

He thought he might throw up.

At least he wasn't _really_ here for the social merit like everyone else. Cullen was slipping Inquisition soldiers in to be placed at strategic points, and that included his brother. His advisers would all be there, as would Dorian, Sera, and Cassandra (even though everyone and their mother very loudly and very vehemently protested the presence of the elven archer). It was a mission, just a mission. Maybe he'd even get to swing his hammer a little.

But that mantra he wore like armor began to falter the moment he entered the front gates.

"I hear the Inquisitor is one of the Trevelyans from Ostwick."

"Maker - a Marcher, really?"

He knew exactly what was coming.

There was a simple fact of foreign nobility, and it was that they would always give him the look he dreaded, the look that had filled his days since the age of three. Even if they didn't know, they were going to look at him and think _bastard_ , because that's what the Free Marches were to the rest of the world. They were the bastards of Thedas, not kingdoms steeped in history but laying claim to a crown all the same. They were going to look at him and think, _How quaint, that a child from a childish land would think to rule the faithful_. And they would probably be right.

"The Herald is here? No, no, I met him once, when the Inquisition still had its post in Haven. Unbelievable heathen brat, couldn't believe it when I got word they'd put him in charge."

Rhyleigh visibly cringed at that, turning away from the voice and hoping he hadn't been spotted by whoever that was. He'd have gladly fought the man, but after what was just said he wasn't sure of that would make things better for him.

"That's what you get, runnin' around tellin' everyone the Maker's a great big tit," Sera said, crossing her arms at him.

"I don't say that anymore," he said quietly.

She shrugged. "Still said it. And you meant it." 

"I had good reason," he hissed. "It's different for you, you asked to join. I was _literally_ tossed into the Inquisition. I spent my twentieth birthday trudging alone through the Frostback mountains wondering if I'd ever see another person again, of _course_ I think the Maker's a tit."

"I didn't say you were wrong, I just said that's what you get," she said. For a moment, she busied herself with flipping and unflipping the cuffs on her jacket, then she looked up again. "So you going in, or what?"

He looked to the front doors of the palace, grimacing. "Eventually." 

. . .

There was one thing Rhyleigh hadn't counted on when entering the ball, and it was something he was forced to recognize as he went about his investigation. He had been convinced that the nobility here would look at his heritage and frown, but that wasn't exactly what happened. His position was unique: it could have been anyone falling out of the Fade, but it was him. 

_At least it wasn't an elf, I heard they were at the Conclave._

_Thank the Maker it wasn't a mage, can you imagine that sort of power in the rebellion's hands?_

Marcher or not, they were thankful the Herald of Andraste was _one of them_ , and therefore able to be used and traded just as any other human of rank in the Great Game. And because of this, because the nobles were determined to like him for all the benefits he could offer, the elves were looking at him in a way that said he would be just another warlord standing on their necks. There were saccharine smiles and weary glares everywhere he looked, nowhere to hide when the masks were all around.

He was sweating by the time he reached Cullen for a report. 

"Anything-" His voice broke and he coughed, clearing his very dry throat. "Seen anything, Cullen?" Maker, it was like he couldn't catch his breath.

The commander shook his head. "Not as yet. These guests won't leave me alone long enough to look." He paused, looking carefully at the Inquisitor. "Are you alright?"

Rhyleigh had to cling to the tall table, knocking over two glasses of wine in the process. One hand clawed in his hair as he tried to fight the pressure and sheer terror building up in his chest. "Maker - _fuck_ , I can't breathe!"

Cullen put a firm hand on his back, helping to undo the man's jacket collar to let in some air. "Take a moment, Inquisitor, don't think about the ball for a moment. Take a deep breath."

Through the hazy lack of oxygen, Rhyleigh felt another presence at his side, then heard Leliana's voice. "Is he alright? Has he been poisoned?"

"No," Cullen said calmly, still keeping a hold on Rhyleigh's shoulder. "It's a panic attack. These guests, they're getting to him like no assassin could." He bent down slightly, looking into Rhyleigh's face and patiently waiting for him to get his breathing under control again. "Let's get you some air, come on." Signaling for Leliana to stay where she was, the commander helped Rhyleigh to straighten up, then took him out the nearest doors to a balcony overlooking the front entrance.

The air here was cold, sharp and energizing to Rhyleigh's mind. The fog lifted, and as he clung to the railing, he finally stopped feeling like he was going to throw up. 

"Better?" Cullen asked.

"Yes," Rhyleigh said, running a hand through his hair. He gave Cullen a sidelong look. "And no."

Cullen nodded, unsurprised and unbothered. "Josephine tried to warn you. The imperial court is nothing to sneeze at. Even when they try to be nice, you can't help but feel unwanted."

"Do you have the same problem?" Rhyleigh asked.

Cullen chuckled. "Not the same, but near enough. It was difficult for me in Kirkwall after everything that happened. I stayed for some time to help with relief, but... having a battle in the streets of your home starts to ruin the place for you. It seemed like every day the shadows and cobblestones were conspiring against me." He looked at Rhyleigh, seeming almost sad. "You're too young to be here. A boy of your age shouldn't be subjected to the court for ridicule."

Rhyleigh's expression hardened and he straightened up at that. "Boy?" he demanded. "I think at twenty I'm past the point of boyhood. I think after all the Rifts I've closed, the battles I've won, that I'm _well_ past the point of boyhood." He shook his head, leaning against the railing again. "I'm not _afraid_ of these people. Half of them can't even pick up a sword, let alone use one. What are they going to do to me? I could pick out the people saying the worst things about me and duel them easy. But... what good would that do? In all my life, I've never met so many people who know less than nothing about me, and think to themselves that they know everything. And they... they have this image of who I am, and if I was that person, I'd kill me." He paused for a moment, thinking through what he'd just said, then he straightened up again and stepped away from the balcony's railing. "Right, well, I suppose I'll just show them that I'm not theirs."

Cullen's eyes widened slightly as he also stepped away. "Erm, is that a good-"

"I think it's time to start finding as much dirt on these people as I possibly can." He buttoned his jacket once more, then strode back into the ballroom.

. . .

"Dorian, I need your help," Rhyleigh murmured. 

The mage grinned. "Excellent. What do you need?"

"I need a distraction, because I'm about to climb up that latticework over there and I can't have anyone arresting me."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the vines the Inquisitor was referencing, then sighed. "This is absolutely going to cost you." 

Rhyleigh smirked. "I'm willing to pay up."

"Good, because the garden party is about to get very interesting."

Rhyleigh stepped back, looking around. "You've got ten minutes to think of your plan. When I'm ready, I'll throw a coin in the pool, and then you go ahead."

Dorian merely nodded, then turned away and began pulling his sleeves away from his hands.

When the time came, Rhyleigh took up his position by the fountain and the lattice, waiting to catch Dorian's eye. When he caught it, he tossed the coin and waited for the eyes to leave him.

And great _Maker_ did Dorian have a hell of a distraction in mind. 

The mage immediately turned, gaze falling upon the unsuspecting Pierre de Launcet. Rhyleigh had trouble keeping all the names and faces straight here in the court, but even he knew this man and all his views. Pierre was quite possibly the snobbiest, stingiest, most uptight man at the entire party. He had no time for children, including his own, only married virgins and divorced them when he no longer saw use for them, guarded his gold better than any dragon could hope to do, and was absolutely against any idea that wasn't traditional.

And Dorian walked straight up to him, cried, "Pierre, my love, it's been far too long!" and planted a filthy kiss right on his lips.

The entire garden seemed to collectively stop breathing for a moment. Even Rhyleigh forgot he was supposed to be doing something illegal. When suddenly the other guests exploded into titters and laughter (and a few shrill screams), Rhyleigh scrambled up the lattice, knowing he only had a minute or two before some of the nobles became bored. 

The only thought in his head for the moment was that he was going to end up owing Dorian a lot.

. . .

All in all, by the end of the evening, Gaspard had been sentenced to death, Celene had been saved and reconciled with Briala, the elves didn't quite hate Rhyleigh so much anymore, and Dorian had started a scandal that could possibly rival that of Grand Duchess Florianne's. 

Rhyleigh was also fairly certain he would not be invited to any Orlesian parties anytime soon. 

"You _ruined_ Pierre de Launcet's reputation!" Josephine cried, very nearly on the point of aneurysm.

"I didn't like him, anyway," Rhyleigh said, tilting back in his chair.

"I didn't think it was possible, that man has been untouchable for decades!" She shook her head, repeatedly smoothing her jacket. "And you - you just implicated him in a homosexual Tevinter love affair, _how_ did you do that?"

Rhyleigh shrugged. "Dorian did it."

"Stop that!" she snapped. "Look at everything you've done tonight!"

"Yes, look," said the cool voice of Morrigan as the witch stepped up to their table. "Impressive, for having only a few hours to work." She looked down at Rhyleigh with a slight smile. "And there's a part of me that thinks you started without any sort of plan."

Josephine sighed heavily as Rhyleigh merely shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me," she said. "But... you _did_ save the empress, and I was approached by a few lords who spoke to you and said they'd like to pledge their men to our cause. And, I suppose, the scandal with Pierre de Launcet is probably in everyone's favor. That man won't show his face at any parties for the next five years or more, and that'll make it easier for many younger nobles to put in appearances without fear of immediate ridicule." She shook her head, letting her shoulders relax. "Alright. I'll admit, unleashing the terror that is Rhyleigh Trevelyan on the court for one night was probably a good thing. But _no more_ dances for you."

"Thank you, Josie," he said sweetly, smiling at her.

She gave a tired smile in return. "I will meet you back at the inn, Inquisitor. Goodnight." She nodded at both Rhyleigh and Morrigan, then took her leave. 

The witch shifted over, occupying the space Josephine had just left. "In further news, Inquisitor, the empress has offered my services to the Inquisition. I shall be joining you henceforth in your journey to defeat Corypheus."

Rhyleigh, in the midst of taking a sip of wine, slowly replaced the glass to the table. He didn't feel quite right about that arrangement. Usually Orlesians doing him favors without him asking resulted in another peg moved in the Game. "Why do I want you in my Inquisition?" he asked.

She seemed amused by the question. "Short of my talents in all things arcane, I also have knowledge of vanquishing Arch Demons. I was present when last one made Ferelden its home. I intend to see this one out as well."

Rhyleigh still didn't like the arrangement. She was not the sort he'd place his trust in; so far, all he knew about her was that she was a mage, she constantly made it clear she was the smartest woman in the room, and, though she was Ferelden, she was just as capable of manipulation as any of the Orlesians. "You don't do anything without my permission," he told her.

She looked surprised at the statement. "Without _your_ permission?" she said with a slight laugh. "The boy-"

"Not a boy," he interrupted lowly.

She paused, then tilted her head. "Still a boy, but an accomplished boy regardless. Very well, Inquisitor. I will behave in your walls. We should speak again when we have returned to your Skyhold."

He merely nodded, watching her leave. For a moment, he was alone. And it was the first time in the entire night that he was alone and wasn't about to be killed. He took that moment to breathe, to reflect that, for once, he'd been a complete dick for a very good reason. 

And by the look on Yorick's face when the Duchess was unmasked... that was something he could actually be proud of.

"Alright, Amatus," said a weary voice from behind, then Dorian's hands were on his shoulders. "I believe you owe me a dance," he murmured.

Rhyleigh grinned, tilting his head up to let the mage kiss him. "Is that something you've been impatiently waiting for?"

Dorian hummed neutrally, pulling Rhyleigh out of his chair. "It might get that oaf Pierre away from me for a bit, at any rate. You'd think we actually _had_ slept together."

Rhyleigh snorted loudly, allowing himself to be led to the dance floor. "I suppose that means I must increase the competition."

"Oh, Amatus," Dorian said with a wolfish grin. "As though _anyone_ could compete. Come, let me show you a dance from Tevinter. We can probably squeeze a bit more mortification out of these cheese-lovers yet."


	11. Inquisitor Emerging

It was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon when Rhyleigh finally trudged down to the war room. His advisers were already there, as they had planned to solely focus on handling various operations that day. There was much quiet amusement when they saw him walking with pronounced discomfort. 

Leliana gave him a sidelong look as he leaned against the table. "Love has been the popular subject in these weeks since the ball, has it not?" she said casually, pointedly not looking at anyone. "I've even seen letters from Commander Cullen's admirers."

Cullen groaned. "I hope you used them for firewood."

"Certainly not. We could use those."

He put down the report he was holding, deeply offended. "I won't be used as _bait_."

"Hush. Just look pretty," Leliana said, to the amusement of Rhyleigh and Josephine. 

"Why do you choose me to taunt?" he demanded. "There was that entire debacle caused by Dorian and the Inquisitor, have you nothing to say of that?"

"Oh, please, it was so clearly a sham, even if we didn't already know," Leliana said, waving a hand. "He was far too bold about it, amusing as it was. Nothing like those secret kisses I saw flitting between Josie and Knight-Captain Yorick."

Josephine let out a mortified gasp just as Rhyleigh's hand slipped off the table, leading him to bang his chin rather hard against it. He wanted to shout, but something was forcing him to hold his tongue. And he knew it was Josephine herself. She already had her hands over her mouth, face redder than a tomato, and he was almost afraid yelling would make her burst into tears. She'd been the only woman in the world to actually mother over him. Not care about his wellbeing and offer soft advice when he was upset, no, she called him out on his poor behavior and did everything in her power to make certain his future and the future of the Inquisition was secured. He couldn't repay that by starting a fight.

But he had to say _something_. The surprise was clawing its way up through his throat and it all ended up as a mess of, "I - I didn't - he - you.... What?"

"Leliana!" Josephine snapped, still holding her hands over her face.

The spymaster raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised by the reaction but still shameless. "You didn't know? It's been weeks, I assumed the Inquisitor would be aware."

"But I... wasn't," Rhyleigh said slowly, feeling hurt puncture something deep in his chest. His brother, the one he shared everything, _everything_ with, hadn't told him about his new love. He looked up, seeing curiosity from Leliana, apology and guilt in Josephine, and sympathy from Cullen.

And suddenly he couldn't stand any of them. 

"I - I have to talk to-" He stopped. He didn't need an excuse. He simply turned and walked out of the war room.

How could he have not been told? How could he have spent all this time with Yorick, looked at Josephine every day, and not known? It shouldn't have been such a big deal, but the thought of it was ripping him apart inside and he didn't know why. It was starting to get old, so old, that every time there was complete turmoil tying his stomach into painful knots he didn't ever know why, and all he wanted to do was go run off to the shithole of the Western Approach and bury himself in the physical awfulness of it, to forget the mental and emotional stress he just didn't have the knowledge to fix.

He was on a headlong stride to Maker knew where when he found himself colliding with a huge, solid figure, and it caused him to stumble.

"Whoa, boss," said the Iron Bull, grabbing the Inquisitor to hold him steady. He looked down, his one eye squinting at the young man. "I've never seen somebody look more eaten up than you. What's going on?"

Rhyleigh looked up at him, at a face that was calm, that had always listened to problems with a patient ear in the past, and he just had time to think, _This is why he was Ben-Hassrath_ before everything came pouring out. "How the _hell_ should I know?" he demanded, not even aware enough to be grateful that they were in a relatively private corner of the yard. "It's all _shit_ , isn't it? All of it! Does anyone understand what it's like to be the man who's supposed to save the world? Because let me tell you, it's the worst feeling in the world. I hated my house, but you know what? I actually miss it, because at least people didn't pay so much attention to me. They _mocked_ me at the Winter Palace. How do you mock the only person who can stop evil incarnate from destroying the entire world? And because I'm him, because I'm _that_ man, I can't be me anymore! I have to choose which faction gets to be saved, I have to care about the fates of people I hate, I have to actually worry about what people think of me." He was pacing now, pushing his hands through his hair. Frustrated, angry tears were spilling out of his eyes and he couldn't make them stop. "And... that's why Yorick doesn't talk to me, because it's not my business anymore. I'm not - I'm not that little brother, he doesn't have to take care of me because I have to take care of myself. And I know it, I know all of this, because with every letter Camilla sends me from home I can see the man she's addressing is no longer here. She's so unaware of what's going on it's laughable, but it's not funny because now I'm here." He slumped, looking down at the ground. "Now I'm here, yelling at you, for no reason other than that I happened to slam into you while trying to run off."

There was a long, _long_ , uncomfortable moment of silence. Then he finally heard Bull heave a sigh. "Feel better?" he asked.

Rhyleigh shrugged. "A little."

"Alright. I mean, there's not a lot I can do about this. You're right. To be the man you are, you've gotta change a lot. And you didn't get a choice, and that makes it worse." He stepped forward, putting a large hand on Rhyleigh's shoulder. "But your people are in danger and this is how you help them. I'm not the same Qunari that fought in Saheron. Now I'm Tal-Vashoth, something I swore maybe five hundred times I would never become. But Krem is in the tavern right now arguing with Dalish about what a bow is or isn't, and it's okay, because they have the breath to do it." He removed the hand, giving a half shrug. "Do you still want to be the bastard asswipe who thinks the world is out to get him? Do you really want that more badly than you want to save your family?"

Rhyleigh took a moment to breathe, feeling all the hot chaos start to ebb away. Getting all of his anger out had been half the battle. Hearing an actual, logical answer from Bull was the rest of the pieces to finally put himself back together. It was the confirmation he needed. Yes, the old Rhyleigh was gone. And it was so much better for everyone that way.

He'd always known that. He just hadn't thought it would be like this. 

"Thank you," he said quietly, stepping back. "I'm sorry this keeps happening."

Bull shrugged. "No one said you had to do it all _alone_."

Rhyleigh looked over his shoulder. Going up the stairs into Skyhold was an entourage leading a filthy Grand Duchess. A messenger was coming over, presumably to say that it was time for judgement.

And the most grounding thought was suddenly so solid in his mind: _I need to be the Inquisitor._

He already knew what judgement he would pass.

As he entered the great hall, eyes focused solely on the throne, he felt someone catch his arm. He turned, seeing Yorick looking into his face with slight worry. "We need to talk when this is over," he said earnestly.

A glance further back showed Josephine was just leaving the area. Rhyleigh nodded, feeling oddly calm after such a tumultuous outburst. "Right. Yeah, I'll come see you right after," he said, then continued on up to the throne.

Josephine cleared her throat, a little more loudly than was necessary. "A trial is hardly necessary for the Grand Duchess Florianne. Her crimes were numerous and evident. All that is left is for you to determine her punishment, Inquisitor."

Rhyleigh looked down at the Duchess. He remembered trading riddles with her on the dance floor, recalled how she'd locked he and his friends in the garden to be devoured by demons. He remembered how she would have gladly killed everyone at that ball for the sake of a title. "Well, Florianne, welcome to the Inquisition," he said with biting snark. " _My_ party."

She rolled her eyes up to him, unimpressed. "Could use a better musical arrangement, your worship," she replied.

"Despite her posture," Josephine began, looking with heavy dislike upon the Duchess, "she recognizes your authority. What would you have done?"

Rhyleigh kept his eyes on her. He didn't look at his advisers, or his friends, or his brother. He kept his eyes trained on the evil at hand. "Execution," he said clearly. "Those who choose to side with Corypheus, with the evil greed that ruins this world, should know the penalty of their actions."

Florianne looked up at him as he stood, quiet confusion in her eyes. "But, you spared me once, why-"

He put his foot on the second step, leaning towards her. "Like I said; this is _my_ party." He didn't bother to stay and watch them take her away. He strode down the side of the hall, back to where he knew Yorick was, and prepared himself for what was about to be said.

Yorick was leaning against the wall. A heaviness lurked in his eyes as he looked upon Rhyleigh. "Execution is quite a serious punishment, Rhyles. Sure you weren't in the market for a court jester."

Once, maybe. That was no longer an option. "This stopped being funny a long time ago," Rhyleigh said, shifting to that he sat on the end of the nearest table. "What did you want to talk about?"

Yorick sighed, stepping forward to be closer. There was guilt in the way he moved, and that made Rhyleigh regret running out on the war room meeting earlier. "Listen... I have been seeing Lady Josephine. Not much, really, since we hardly have time for it. But you do have a right to know, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Even though he knew this was only an apology, it still made Rhyleigh feel a bit better to hear it from his brother. "It's alright. I... wasn't myself earlier." Or ever. "Leliana caught me off guard, that was all."

Yorick relaxed slightly. "So you aren't angry with me?"

Rhyleigh looked up at him. "What? No, I - I could never be angry with you. Not about something like this, anyway. Go on, flirt, kiss girls, get married, I don't care." He let some of the stiffness out of his posture, cocking his head. "She's Antivan, you know. Is that fondness passed down through the family?"

Yorick laughed, a sound that was a blessing to Rhyleigh's ears, and shook his head. "I don't know, maybe. At least she knows how to run a damn good house. I mean... can you imagine? Our children would be so well-behaved."

"Children already?" Rhyleigh said, raising an eyebrow.

A blush came over Yorick's cheeks as he shoved his brother. "Just a thought. I can't watch her lecture you and _not_ see a fantastic mother there. But... that's years away, if at all. There's too much to do now, and she's so desperately needed, here and in her own family. I don't know. It's silly to think I have much of a chance."

"You do," Rhyleigh said quietly. "You're... the better one. Always. She'd be an idiot not to fall for you."

Yorick smiled at him, utterly pleased with the remark, and he had to look away for a moment. "You know," he said slowly, "when I first started hearing about you and Dorian from other people - after I met the man, of course - they all said the worst things. That he was just using you, was the popular theory. They couldn't understand why a mage from Tevinter would attempt to woo this brat of an Inquisitor. And I thought...." He shrugged. "You know, yeah, what's he doing with dumb Rhyleigh?"

The smile that had slowly been working its way onto Rhyleigh's face dropped immediately and he shoved a laughing Yorick away from him. "You're fired. Pack your things. Out of the Inquisition."

"Can I take Josie with me?" he asked.

"No. I changed my mind, you're a dick and you don't deserve her." He pushed himself off the table, intending to walk off, but then Yorick grabbed him in a headlock and forcefully mussed up his hair. "Oi! What's wrong with you? This is assault!"

Yorick released him, still laughing, then held him by the shoulder. "Honestly, Rhyles, if you need to talk about something, I'm still here. You just come and ask, that's all."

Rhyleigh looked at him, then nodded. "Yeah, I'll remember that," he said.

He knew he probably wouldn't do that, not anymore. Not with everything that still needed to be done, everything he still needed to be. It was comforting to have the offer, though, should an opportunity come when he could take it.


	12. Adamant Sacrifice

Rhyleigh strapped on his second bracer, enjoying the quiet of his room for a moment. It was likely to be the last bit of quiet he'd get for a long while. Within the week, he'd be back in the Western Approach, and he'd be at Adamant. Whatever was happening with the Wardens it would end there. 

And that left his hands shaking again. They shook often now, when he thought of what was ahead. In the midst of battle, when death was a very real threat, he was alive and smiling and wild. But before... no, before, he was as scared as a nervous widow. There was a lot to be done.

It scared him. At this point, he had to admit that. So many things could go wrong, and he might ultimately be responsible for all of them. Any mistakes made were his. That was how it had always worked.

But... if there _was_ a Maker, and Andraste really did hand him back out of the Fade, then it wasn't an accident, he wasn't a mistake. At his worst, he had been worth saving. He tried not to think about the Maker too much, because it always served to make him angry and lost, but just this once, it made him think that maybe something, at some point, had gone right.

He heard his door creak open and immediately grabbed whatever was closest, hoping to keep himself steady. When he turned to look, he saw that it was Dorian, staff slung over his shoulder and fully dressed. "Prepared to disembark, your worship?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Me? Yes," Rhyleigh said, moving to take his helmet from where it sat on a chair. "You, no."

Dorian faltered, brow furrowed. "Pardon? I don't believe I heard that correctly."

"I thought it was clear," Rhyleigh said. "I'm not taking you, Dorian. Solas is going to be with me this time."

He saw astonishment flit across the mage's face, then watched hurt settle in. "I - I don't understand," he said, trying to play at a laugh to pretend it didn't hurt so much. "Has my magic lost some of its charm for you?"

He shook his head. "No, not at all. But Solas knows the most about Fade magic, and since the Wardens are ripping demons out of the Fade-"

"Is that what this is?" Dorian snapped. "Are you concerned that I'll be _affected_? Dorian, the mage from Tevinter, is obviously more susceptible to possession! Right! How could I have forgotten? Blood magic is in my heritage! I'll see it being performed and I'll just get sucked right in, is that it?"

"Dorian," Rhyleigh began, but the mage held up a hand. 

"You haven't spoken properly to me in _weeks_ ," he said. "I barely remember what it's like to share a bed with you. And now you don't trust me to handle the Wardens with you?" He shook his head, expression one of mingled pain and anger. "I didn't come here to be treated worse than I would be at my own house."

Rhyleigh looked away, feeling like crying but feeling so empty at the same time. "Dorian, I can't take you to Adamant," he said quietly.

The mage gritted his teeth. "Fine," he snapped. "Perhaps on your return, you won't have to worry about me at all." With a last shake of his head, Dorian turned and stalked from the room. 

Rhyleigh sighed and dropped the helmet, allowing his hands to shake all the more for a moment as he tried to force down all the ugly feelings piling up inside of him. When he finally got himself back under control, he grabbed his things and went out to meet the caravan bound for the Approach.

. . .

In the single breath before the battle started, Rhyleigh wished to the Maker that he'd taken Dorian. In the midst of it, when he called for Solas' assistance, he'd almost said Dorian's name instead. When he plummeted off the castle walls, down into the pits of the Fade, he wished with all his heart that he'd taken Dorian.

And as he sat in the mud of a world that made no sense, he knew these were all the reasons he'd left Dorian behind.

They were in the Fade. They had been dropped into this hellish landscape that had been torn apart and corrupted by Corypheus, and landscape into which few mortals ventured and even fewer returned in tact. It was one thing for Rhyleigh to be there, connected as he was, but he should have kept everyone back, somehow left them back in the real world so they wouldn't have to be here. Because nightmares came for him no matter what he did anymore. They didn't have to come for everyone.

So even though Sera screamed out her fear and it hurt, and even though Cassandra fell into a panic despite her stoic nature and _that_ hurt, Rhyleigh kept his jaw tight and his hammer close, because they were past the point of jokes and so far beyond saving.

_I just have to get them out of here. We just have to get out of here_ , he continued to tell himself as they followed whatever dim paths they could find. So long as they could get back out, they'd be fine. 

When a guiding spirit of light arrived, he'd thought they were saved. They all thought is was Andraste come once again to protect her Herald. Rhyleigh had not been prepared for the enormous disappointment when the spirit finally revealed itself.

"Divine Justinia?" Cassandra said in a hushed voice.

Rhyleigh only stared. It felt like the Fade was swallowing him alive, pulling him down into the muck and murk. He couldn't believe he'd convinced himself that the stories of him being a prophet might actually be true. It was all just an accident, like he'd thought. There was no way the Divine could have known what she was doing, what she was subjecting the world to, when she pushed him out of the Rift. 

"Do you remember what happened?" she asked him, voice trying to be gentle, but there was no way for her to soothe the pain clamping down on his heart. 

"I - can't. It's like the memories just aren't there," he said quietly.

"That is because they were taken from you by a servant of Corypheus," she said, looking off deeper into the Fade. "A creature which preys on the fears and the weaknesses of others."

Rhyleigh nodded once. Get the memories, get out. He would deal with the fact that he was never actually chosen later. 

But things only got worse. They always did. 

So the legitimate Nightmare that finally came for them was really just the manifestation of everything he knew was already coming. 

"Go!" Rhyleigh barked, holding his hammer in front of him, standing between his friends and the vile creature. "Have Justinia lead you out!"

"If you stay back, you'll be trapped here forever!" Alistair shouted.

"I know!" he said, hating how his voice broke. "You're only in here because of me, so I'm giving you the chance to get out."

Hawke put a hand on his shoulder, and Rhyleigh really wished he wouldn't. "It's the Wardens' fault. _They_ sided with Corypheus. You have to go back and deal with them."

"But I'm the reason _they're_ here!" he snapped, pointing a finger back at Sera, at Cassandra, at Solas. "I drag them _everywhere_ and it turns out I'm not the hero everyone thought I was! Let me end this and you save yourselves!" 

Hawke seized Rhyleigh's glowing left hand, holding it up. "No one else has this. It's the only advantage you've got over Corypheus. Don't take that away from them." He let go, then pulled out his own weapon and stepped in front of Rhyleigh. "Your time's almost up. Are you getting them out of here or not?"

_No. No, no, no, no, not this, not for me._

Rhyleigh didn't have time to think. He turned, seized Sera by the jerkin and pulled her along with him to the exit portal. He threw her in first, pushing Solas, Cassandra, and Alistair past before going through himself. He didn't look back at Hawke. He'd have stayed if he had.

They hit the flagstones of Adamant fortress, shaking, hardly able to breathe, still covered in the slime from the Fade.

And then Varric approached, looking around at the party before down at Rhyleigh.

"Where's Hawke?"


	13. Recovery II

No one saw the Inquisitor for days after they returned to Skyhold. He had no visitors save for Yorick, who knocked on the door, but Rhyleigh wouldn't let him in. 

This was suddenly, _painfully_ real now. All this time, Rhyleigh had managed to keep his people alive. He had the scars to prove how far he was willing to go for that. But then there had come a moment, a choice in which not everyone could be saved, and that wasn't really his fault, which only served to make it worse. When things were his fault, people had usually been content to let him fix the problem. That just hadn't sat as well with Hawke.

Sometimes the thought hit him so hard, the memory of leaving the man in the Fade and not looking back, that he couldn't breathe. He'd sit on the floor of his chambers trembling, gasping for breath wondering _why, why me, why do they all have to trust me?_ It could have been any of them choosing to stay back. If Cassandra thought it would do any good, she'd have thrown away anything she had for the sake of getting everyone out. He knew Blackwall would do the same. So would Bull, Cole, and... Dorian would have done it. So would Yorick.

The thought of losing these people, especially his brother, sent him into a sort of frenzy that he would later be extremely glad no one bore witness to. The curtains were torn from his bed, items shoved from his desk. He took his helmet and completely threw it off the balcony. He wanted it gone, all gone, every sign that any of this was his responsibility, that it would be for _him_ that anyone would give up their lives.

_"No one else has this. It's the only advantage you've got against Corypheus."_

Rhyleigh looked down at his hand, blind to what it actually was, blind to consequences as he panicked. _This_ was the reason he was where he was, the reason everything was falling to pieces. He wanted _no_ part in it anymore. He desperately lunged for the knife he'd shoved from the desk and held it over his arm, a manic gleam in his eye. Cut it off. Cut it off, and he wouldn't be special anymore, he'd be a brat with an inferiority complex, and that was better. No one would get left behind, no one would die for him, because he wouldn't be worth dying over, and that was so, so okay with him.

But the moment the blade kissed skin, barely enough to make a cut, he stopped. He realized what he was doing and dropped the weapon, horrified that he'd so seriously considered such an act.

He needed help. Desperately. And he was going to find nothing of worth in his half-destroyed room. He took several deep breaths to come back to himself, then took his cloak and ventured from the room. 

He avoided people as much as possible through the halls, and he wasn't going far. He kept to the side, not acknowledging when anyone spoke, giving no sign that it was alright to approach him yet. The only person he saw from the inner circle was Varric, and Rhyleigh didn't think he could bear to look at him. He pushed open the side door leading to the garden, then kept close to the wall until he came to another door. Thankfully, so thankfully, no one was inside the room when he stepped in.

It was a shrine to Andraste, and to the Maker. He knew people frequently used it, especially of late. Cullen, Cassandra, and Yorick were some of the most frequent to venture in and out. Rhyleigh himself had never been inside.

It was small. Humble. Whatever could be thrown together quickly so people had a place of refuge, and it just sort of stayed that way. And Rhyleigh, who had done nothing but curse the name of the Maker, blaspheme with every breath in his body, walked to the statue of Andraste and fell to his knees.

He stared up at her stone eyes in the quiet, unsure where to begin, or what to do. Should he start with a Chant of Light? Probably, but by now, he'd forgotten the words. With a heavy sigh, he decided to begin with the most immediate issue.

"I just tried to cut my hand off," he said into the quiet. Hearing himself say it made the attempt somehow more ridiculous than it already was. "So if you think being your Herald is somehow a blessing... I hope that says something."

He sniffed, carefully choosing his next words. Then he realized he didn't actually care. "Honestly, if you asked, I couldn't tell you what I'm doing here. Exactly what sort of good have you ever done me? Fuck all, that's how much. And people wonder why I hate you. You - you throw these _impossible_ problems at people and still expect to be praised? Blights? Civil wars? Undead magisters? _I_ used to be an impossible problem for people, and let me tell you, all I ever got was a swift kick in the arse. See this scar here? Camilla slapped me. While wearing a gauntlet. Why? Because I said something she didn't like and I was right there for her to take revenge. So where's your accountability? Because I can tell you right now, I'd _love_ to smack you in the mouth with my gauntlet."

There was no answer. As usual. The shaking in his hands was there again, but it wasn't as pronounced. "Maybe... maybe I don't need to hit you. I hit everything, and where has that gotten me?" He sat quietly for a moment, contemplating that thought.

And then he realized what he was supposed to do. It wasn't really about getting answers. People didn't come to this shrine to hear Andraste talk back, a fact Sera had pointed out forever ago. They came here because sometimes it was good to believe someone else was out there with just as much, if not more, responsibility. For at least five minutes, he had to get over himself and stop tangling himself up in his own problems. He was so worried, at any given moment, that he wasn't doing the right thing, that he wasn't good enough, that this was all just a mistake. If there really was a Maker, if Andraste really existed, then maybe there was still an element of divine intervention to this. Maybe there was still a way for him to get through.

So he let his head fall and he let the weight of the Anchor rest on the altar for a while.

. . .

He felt... drained. Unbelievably drained. And not quite better, but a little less chaotic. Not better enough to go talk to people, at any rate. Rhyleigh trudged back to his room, once more ignoring anyone that even looked in his direction as he made his way back to solitude.

It was there that he realized the extent of his fit from earlier. The room was a total disaster, it would take him hours to clean it. Some items knocked from the bookshelf were simply broken beyond repair. As he stared around at the mess, he had no will to clean it up again.

"By the Maker!" said a voice from behind. Rhyleigh turned, seeing Dorian standing at the top of the stairs, staring around at the mess. In his hand was the helmet Rhyleigh had cast off the balcony earlier, now slightly dented. When Dorian caught the man looking, he immediately adopted a more neutral expression. "You seem to have lost this. I was only bringing it back," he said in a flat voice.

Rhyleigh took the helmet, staring down at its gleaming surface, then looked up at the mage, feeling a tightness in his throat. "I...."

"No, don't do that," Dorian said, looking away. "You _can't_ do that, understand? You can't ignore me for weeks on end, then start weeping in front of me because you suddenly feel lonely. It's not as though no one has been trying to get you to come out these past few days."

Rhyleigh opened his mouth slightly, hurt by the reaction, though not surprised by it. "I - I don't want your _pity_ , Dorian. But _you_ came in _here_ , and I thought you'd left for good - you said you were going to - but now you're the only real person I've talked to in days and - fuck I'm sorry, but it's so hard not to need you."

"Need me?" he repeated, his own voice shaking slightly. "You didn't seem to need me when you thought I'd be possessed by demons."

"That wasn't why!" Rhyleigh cried, dropping the helmet and knotting his hands in his hair. "Maker, you honestly think I left you here because I didn't trust you? Dorian, we were thrown into the fucking Fade! Hawke didn't make it out! You would have been right at my side where the worst of the shit would be and I _couldn't do it_."

"You might well have said something to that effect!" Dorian said with exasperation. "Instead, you let me think everything I knew about you was wrong and that you were just as childish as everyone believed!"

"I wanted you to be mad at me!" he snapped. "I was _never_ chosen, so how am I supposed to defend the people I love when there's no guarantee that I'm even capable of doing it? Everything about me is just an accident!" A wave of insignificance crashed over him, so large that he thought he might be overcome. Not even faith in Andraste could change the fact he'd just said aloud. "I _wanted_ you to get so angry you'd want to leave! Maybe then you wouldn't care what happened to me at Adamant."

Dorian halted, at once looking shocked and deeply offended. He stepped forward, shaking his head, then he took Rhyleigh's face in his hands and kissed him hard. "How could you think I wouldn't care?" he asked, pain adding a slight tremor to his voice. 

Rhyleigh gave a shaky sigh, leaning his forehead against Dorian's, taking in the familiar scent of sweat and spice. "I'm a disaster, Dorian. I didn't want to take you down with me."

Dorian frowned, seeming pained. "Oh, it's far too late for that, Amatus," he murmured, moving in for another burning kiss.

Rhyleigh lost his breath for a moment, knees weakening. He pressed himself against the mage, desperate for more. "Maker, I don't want to think," he gasped. 

"Then don't," Dorian said quietly, already tearing at Rhyleigh's buckles.

. . .

It was nearly dawn when Rhyleigh launched awake, gasping and trembling. He brought his hands to his face, desperately trying to rub away the remnants of the nightmare. When it didn't work, when his hands still felt filthy and the clinging sweat seemed more like that awful substance from the Fade, he practically fell out of bed and dove for the wash basin. 

He heard Dorian curse behind him as he jerked awake, but paid him no mind. He merely took the cloth in the bowl and began to scrub, first his face, then shoulders, then hands. That turned to only scrubbing his left hand, trying to get the Anchor mark off because it glowed like the Fade and he still wasn't awake enough to be rational about it.

"Amatus," Dorian said quietly, arms encircling him and hands gently taking the cloth away. 

The touch served to ground him, wake him more so he wasn't abusing his hand again. He closed his eyes, leaning against the washstand. "Still wish you'd gone?" he asked quietly.

Dorian sighed against his shoulders. "I did. I wished it with all my heart, even after everything I said. When you returned and Cullen talked of how all of you fell straight into the Fade, I thought, 'What if I had lost him?' I'm not sure if I can forgive you for that."

Rhyleigh chuckled slightly, shakily making his way back to the bed. Dorian sat beside him amidst the covers, still with an arm about him for warmth and comfort. "I think maybe this is payback for how I lived the first nineteen years of my life," he said, drawing a hand over his face.

"You must have committed crimes worse than Blackwall's to warrant this," Dorian mused. "And at such a young age. In Tevinter, you'd be called industrious."

Rhyleigh exhaled, watching the swirling patterns of the Anchor. "It's just... it feels odd when your whole life your biggest worry was Mother forcing you to sit at family dinners, and now you're just praying for the sun to rise in the morning." He made a face, looking down at the blankets. "And also looking at your hand gives you panic attacks. Wouldn't call that much fun, either." 

With a sigh, Dorian pulled Rhyleigh back until they were lying together on the bed, the mage wrapping his arms about the warrior's chest. "I know my specialty is conjuring nightmares," he said. "But for you, I suppose I'll make an exception and keep them away."

Rhyleigh closed his eyes, falling into the kiss Dorian gave him. "Maybe I'll be alright, then," he murmured, turning into Dorian's embrace.


	14. Breaking Away

It had been weeks since Adamant, and Rhyleigh was finally in a place where he could sort of laugh again. When he had a spare moment, he'd sit in the tavern with the Chargers and Bull and Yorick, occasionally joined by Varric. The dwarf was a lot quieter now, they all were. But he had forgiven Rhyleigh even when Rhyleigh still didn't fully forgive himself, and that seemed to help him cope with the loss. 

This evening, Rhyleigh, Yorick, and Dorian were at their own table, simply wasting time until the next big disaster. 

"She always sends the worst letters during a crisis," Yorick was saying, leaning back in his chair.

"Actually, that's what happened the first night we were together," Dorian said, glancing at Rhyleigh. "He _had_ a letter from your mother announcing an engagement. The evidence of it is now lost to us, I'm afraid."

Yorick snorted and looked at his brother. "So _you're_ the one having the homosexual Tevinter love affair."

Rhyleigh rolled his eyes. "I never wrote her back. Not like she'd listen if I did. I just hope word about this got back to her and she fainted dead away." 

"Not unlikely," Yorick allowed, taking a drink of ale.

"Speaking of which," Dorian said, eyeing the burly Templar. "When will _your_ wedding bells be ringing, Sir Trevelyan? I had quite the eyeful of you and the ambassador the other day in the library, an event which I _sincerely_ hope won't be repeated."

Yorick blushed fiercely, looking down at his hands for a moment as Rhyleigh raised his eyebrows. He coughed. "Yes, well, erm, we're heading off to the Arbor Wilds soon, I hear, so we've both had rather a lot to do, and-"

"Oh, come _on_ ," Rhyleigh said, rolling his eyes. "Haven't you noticed your brother's the Inquisitor? I could have you married in two minutes, all nice and tidy, don't have to worry about plans or anything, just 'Take her for your wife? Yes? Take him for your husband? Yes? Good, kiss, done, you're married.'" Rhyleigh took a deep drink of ale as Yorick laughed. 

"I'm not _entirely_ certain Josie would appreciate that," he said. 

"Ah, yes, you know those Antivans," Dorian said with a grave nod. "If you don't have to sell half your lands to afford the ceremony, why even bother at all?"

"Yeah, but if it's cost you have in mind, how much do you think people would pay to have the Inquisitor marry them?" Rhyleigh asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yorick, take that to Josie, I've just found another fundraising opportunity for the Inquisition."

Yorick laughed harder while Dorian rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes, shall we begin scheduling the couples between seizing fortresses? I'm sure we have a moment in there somewhere."

Rhyleigh grinned, imagining a couple saying their vows on the steps of Caer Bronach while Cassandra brutally murdered the leader of the mercenaries. There were bound to be people in Orlais willing to pay any sum of money for that chance.

As the conversation died down, a worn messenger entered the tavern and dropped a stack of letters on their table as he continued on to get a drink. Rhyleigh picked up the stack, sorting through the letters and giving the ones that went to Dorian and Yorick over to them. 

"Hm," Dorian said, scanning his letter. "Maevaris seems to be doing well after those rebellions. Good. We need people like her to stick around in Tevinter."

"And Mother is _still_ sore about me not writing last month," Yorick sighed.

Rhyleigh swallowed, looking down at one of his letters. "At least yours is from Mum," he said, tossing the parchment onto the table. 

Yorick looked at the signature, then frowned. "Rhyleigh-"

"No, don't you even start," he said, pointing a finger at him. "Camilla's carried on with this too long. The fact that she's still sending shite like this says she's paid no mind to the Inquisition other than her little 'gifts' of supplies. She doesn't _want_ to admit I've changed."

"She's still family, though," he said.

Rhyleigh looked at him. "I was never a part of the family. I'm not hers to mock." He got to his feet, seizing his letters off the table. "Dorian, come here, I need your help."

"Rhyleigh!" Yorick called, but the Inquisitor and the mage were already at the door, Dorian shrugging helplessly at him as they left. 

. . . 

"Why exactly are you not the one doing this?" Dorian asked from his seat at the Inquisitor's desk, a quill poised in his hand.

"Because I'm angry and you have phenomenal penmanship," Rhyleigh said as he paced the chambers. "Now, start with 'Dear Camilla' -- no, no, don't do that. 'To my witch of a sister' -- no, that'll prove her right. Just 'Camilla,' then, just write 'Camilla' up there at the top. Have you got that?"

"Yes, I've got it," Dorian sighed.

"Good. Now...." He ran a hand through his hair, wearing a veritable trench into the floor. "I received your latest letter. Unsurprisingly, it was filled corner-to-corner with jibes about my attitude, my faith, and my haircut, all wrapped around your report of what you were sending to us this time. I'm informing you that you have no obligation to continue those shipments. They are a pittance in comparison to the supplies I receive from my allies, and it is a wasted formality - in fact, it's an insult - on someone who is not a member of your family. 

"No Trevelyan has had the guts to do it, due to Father's efforts, but this is a mistake he no longer need fix; I am disowning myself. I do not need you, and I am a better person for having been apart from you. You certainly have no need of me. Let's not continue to hinder one another any longer and sever these threadbare ties. I am the leader of the Inquisition, I am at war, and I have so many bigger things to worry about than whether or not my mother and sister like the color of my hair." Rhyleigh paused, finally stopping his pacing as he thought. "Shall I mention the homosexual Tevinter love affair?"

"At this point, Amatus, I believe that would be plethoric," Dorian said.

Rhyleigh nodded. "You're right. Signed... oh, I don't know. I can't put 'Inquisitor Trevelyan,' can I? I've just disowned myself. What name have I got?"

Dorian slid the paper over to him, holding out the quill. "Might I suggest your actual name? I always do so like to see it in flourishing handwriting."

Rhyleigh smiled slightly, then took the quill and merely wrote his given name. He looked down at the letter, at the harsh words written in such lovely hand, and he suddenly tasted what was unmistakably freedom. Even after making so many decisions for the Inquisition, he finally felt in control of himself. "Right. I'll have this sent off immediately. No need to delay Mother and Camilla their joyful celebration any longer than need be."

The mage gave a small smile, and Rhyleigh felt a bit of a thrill as he realized Dorian actually looked impressed. "You know, that was a fantastic bit of wording, Amatus. I didn't know you had it in you."

He blushed slightly, looking away. "Well, Yorick isn't the only one who hangs around Josie."

Dorian got to his feet and stretched a bit, then came over to wrap his arms around his tall lover. "Well, seeing as you're in the market for a new name...."

Rhyleigh instantly turned red, and he actually pulled away. "D-Dorian, are you -- I - I don't think-"

Dorian burst into laughter, pulling Rhyleigh back. "Oh, Amatus, to think I was _serious_. Can you imagine? The two of us, standing before an altar to the Maker? Half black and half white, of course, neither of our Divines would be too pleased. You wouldn't have any family, I wouldn't have any family, I'm not entirely certain _who_ would officiate such a ceremony, so you might end up using those powers vested in you after all. It would be an utter disaster, I should think."

Rhyleigh sighed with relief, then reached forward to kiss Dorian. "You know, just for that, I think you're going to bottom tonight."

"Oh, is that so?" the mage asked with a grin.

"And if you don't stop the sass, I might tie you to the bedpost."

Dorian's smile turned wolfish in an instant, and he tugged Rhyleigh's collar to pull him closer. "Is that a threat or a promise?" he murmured.

Rhyleigh smirked. "Well, Master Pavus, I think that's entirely up to you and your mouth." He paused, making a face. "Oh no, hang on that - no, yeah, yeah, that's up to you and your mouth."

Dorian groaned, rolling his eyes. "Please kiss me so you'll stop talking." 

"Can do!" Rhyleigh said with a grin, complying with the request as he pushed Dorian back onto the bed.


	15. Into the Wilds

Rhyleigh was alone in the war room, repositioning a band of Templars in the Hinterlands, when Yorick confronted him about the decision.

"You did _what_?" 

"Yeah, well, it's done, so no use shouting about it," Rhyleigh said, turning away.

Yorick sighed, shaking his head. "Did you even _think_ first? They're going to take you seriously, you know they will-"

"I know, why do you think I sent the letter?" Rhyleigh shot back. "Obviously I want them to take me seriously."

"Do you?" he demanded. "Where are you going to go when this Inquisition business is over? You'll have no home, no family connections to build anything for yourself. Dorian has talked of going back to Tevinter to fix things, do you _really_ think you'll be welcome there?"

"Why do you think any of this is going to be a problem?" Rhyleigh snapped, rounding on him. "I don't _need_ any of the Trevelyans! Father would have done better leaving me with my real mother and saving all of you the embarrassment! But now, I've got myself to rely on, and for the first time in my entire life, that's more than enough! If the Inquisition disbands I will _still_ be the former Inquisitor, I will _still_ have everything I've gained for myself, and who cares if people in Tevinter don't like me? They can take their blood magic and shove it up their asses! Even if I become poor and destitute and survive off freelance mercenary work and everything falls to shit, I will still never, _ever_ make the decision to go back to Ostwick."

Yorick merely stared silently at him for a long moment. There was pain behind the anger in his eyes, but he set his jaw against it. "So where does that leave us, then?" he asked quietly.

Rhyleigh swallowed, feeling hot tears and absolutely refusing to let them out this time. He'd show Yorick he was fine on his own, so he merely shrugged. "That's up to you, I suppose. I think I've made my position clear."

Yorick gritted his teeth, then nodded once. "Yeah. I think you have," he said before stalking away.

Rhyleigh watched his brother -- watched Yorick leave the war room, feeling a stab of pain in his chest as the door swung shut behind him. Then panic set in. _Oh, Maker, what have I done?_ he thought, one hand carding through his hair. He forced himself to breathe, to calm down. It was fine. He needed this, he needed to show he didn't need the family to stand on his own. People could be brothers without sharing a name, it happened all the time. But... maybe he'd gone about this the wrong way. What exactly was the right way? He'd disowned himself, of course Yorick was going to be offended, but that was his business. It had to be done.

But that sense of freedom was slowly ebbing the more Rhyleigh realized he'd caused a rift, one that he might not be able to close. He tried to remember that talk he'd had with Bull so many weeks ago. He was not the same person he'd been when he started this, not the same bastard child "lucky" enough to live in his father's house. He was no longer a child unable to make his own decisions no matter how much Yorick wanted to believe otherwise. 

With a far heavier heart, Rhyleigh returned to the map, making the necessary changes for the notes he'd been given by his scouts and advisers. Personal issues or no, there was still a war to be fought, and the Arbor Wilds waited for no drama.

. . .

Another day, another massive, balance-altering battle. 

_The trees are just trees, you're not scared of trees, the trees are fine._ It was taking all of Rhyleigh's willpower to keep that mantra on lockdown while they ventured through the Wilds. The Emerald Graves had been bad enough with its massive trees filled with ancient magic. The Exalted Plains had been a right terror with how steeped it was in an elven desire for vengeance. This place, unsettlingly, had both.

"I don't like this, I don't think I want to be here," he said aloud, wading through the water of a shallow stream.

"This is where Corypheus will gain his advantage if we don't act now," Cassandra told him firmly.

"Right, yeah, I know that, but here I am, Inquisitor, marching my army through the lands of ancient elves, and I'm not sure how much that's appreciate," he said. "I'm a male human, which is historically one of the most dangerous things in the world for elves. This is not comfortable."

"At least you're not an altus mage on top of that," Dorian replied wearily.

Sera looked Rhyleigh up and down, then shrugged. "Yeah. And you're all tall and beefy and you carry a big old hammer. Looks like the scary-scary barbarian type elves think humans are."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "I'm certain they would consider Corypheus the greater of two evils here."

"You know, I'm not as confident in that as you are," Rhyleigh said.

She merely made an annoyed sound as they came upon the next patch of fighting, and they jumped into the fray with their soldiers to beat back the red mages. 

"Ah! Shit! What're those!" he heard Sera suddenly cry. 

Whipping around, he looked up to see lithe, earth-colored creatures descend from the branches right on top of the mages, some stabbing the enemy straight through, others firing down a hail of arrows. Unfortunately, just as he turned away, a mage took the lucky opportunity to encase him in ice. 

"No! Nope, not him!" Dorian cried, sending a massive fireball at the mage. The man's robes were consumed, and then Dorian took up a stance beside Rhyleigh until such time as the Inquisitor could be thawed.

The moment there were no more mages to fight, however, every one of the slim creatures that had dove in immediately scattered. "What were those things?" Cassandra asked, panting as she jogged over to Rhyleigh.

When Dorian had warmed him enough to loosen his joints, Rhyleigh gave her a dirty look. "D'you know what, Cass?" he said, shivering violently. "Call me crazy, but I'm pretty certain those were the elves we were talking about."

"Yes, well, they didn't kill you, did they?" Dorian said.

"If they had, you would have brought me back, right?" Rhyleigh asked.

Dorian patted his reddened cheek. "Of course, Amatus." 

"But what the hell were they?" Sera demanded, shifting from foot to foot. "I mean, they were elves, but they weren't _elves elves_. They were... more elfy." 

"Solas may have some answers for us when we return," Cassandra said.

Rhyleigh rolled his eyes, still desperately trying to get warm again. "That's exactly the reason I didn't bring him. We're going to the Temple of Mythal, do you realize how monumentally awful he would have been?"

He could have sworn a grin was tugging at Cassandra's mouth. "Regardless, we had better step carefully from now on. You weren't wrong when you spoke of our affect on this place."

He managed to agree without throwing an "I told you so" at her, and they continued on into the Wilds.

. . .

Running headlong into the temple avoiding a red lyrium dragon was one thing. Running headlong through the temple to stop Corypheus' men, another. Arguing with ancient elves that were a bit snippy after a long nap was absolutely no fun at all. So by the time they finally ran into Calpernia, Rhyleigh was tired, angry, and more than a little annoyed.

"I'm not letting you have it, Calpernia," he said flatly, raising his hammer to brook no argument. 

She merely smiled her gap-toothed grin at him. "You simple fool. Do you understand the knowledge that flows from the Well? Do you think something so incredibly valuable will be so simple to take away from us? _I_ am the vessel, and it is my right to drink."

He shook his head at her, so very, very tired of Corypheus' uncanny ability to twist people to his whims. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet, considering your experience. You're his _slave_ , Calpernia. He's going to use you and throw you away just as he did with the Wardens."

She snarled at him. "The Wardens were weak! Fodder for the greater attack! I have power and ability beyond theirs!" She looked at the mages around her, letting her anger fade to be replaced by that scary determination he was so familiar with. "Come with me, then. The bastard child must be dealt with, his friends and siblings, too. One last sacrifice." She raised her hands over her head, conjuring her first attack.

Rhyleigh was a fierce fighter. When deep in the throes of the fight, he could lose himself entirely, a Reaver with a berserk streak to match that of the Iron Bull. It didn't usually happen for skirmishes, more for pitched battles, and after he'd had a minute to work his way up.

Here in the temple, before the first blow ever landed, he was already seeing red.

The rage came over him with such immediacy and such intensity that the very first person to get caught in his path was killed instantly. Calpernia had brought this on herself. Rhyleigh had seen this in the Duchess, in the Wardens, and now here. People who might have been good, who might have done better, had been taken and forced to kneel at Corypheus' feet. The Duchess had only wanted power, damn whoever was hurt in the process. Warden Clarel had wanted to save her people, but she'd at least understood it had all been wrong in the end. Calpernia wanted a revolution, and she wanted it to begin with herself. She wanted it _so badly_ that it was starting to not matter what the consequences were. 

And if Rhyleigh knew anything, it was that there were always consequences.

This alone was enough to set him teetering on the edge, but what pushed him was her final comment. The reiteration of the bastard child. The barest hint that maybe Yorick was next to die. Those things made his blood pound like a war drum in his ears, made every muscle feel afire, made him forget what it was like to be human as he fought, fought for the madness to stop, for people to stop dying. He just wanted them to stop. 

He had no knowledge of how much time had passed when a voice began to break through the haze, and he could feel hands on his shoulders that weren't trying to hurt him. The voice was familiar, though he couldn't get the sounds to make sense. He stopped fighting, pulling back so he wouldn't accidentally hurt one of his friends.

"Amatus, listen, it's over." Dorian's words finally became clear. Rhyleigh dropped to one knee, the monumental energy just expended beginning to catch up to him. Dorian knelt with him, wiping blood and sweat out of his eyes. "Great Maker, you're a sight," he said, looking slightly shaken."

Rhyleigh looked down at the person he'd so recently been beating, and he saw it was Calpernia. "Oh... did I-"

"No. Surprisingly, she killed herself just before you had the chance. Although for appearance's sake, we'll say you did it." Dorian swallowed, looking at the mutilated body, then shook his head and murmured, " _Festis bei umo canavarum_."

Rhyleigh looked away, too, and he saw Sera lingering several feet away, looking nervous. "Wow," she said, giggling slightly without humor. "You're not... gonna do that again, right? Say you won't, 'cause right now I don't think I wanna go over there."

"I'm not even sure if I can stand up right now, so you're safe," he assured her.

She nodded, but still didn't immediately move to his side.

Cassandra approached, picking up a fallen shield to replace her dented one. "Morrigan followed Abelas again. We must hurry before they destroy each other."

Rhyleigh let his head hang for a moment. "Did you _not_ just hear - nevermind." He forced himself to his feet, wobbling slightly until Dorian pulled him upright. "Okay, let's go."

"Are you sure-"

"Doesn't matter," he said, pushing Dorian's hand away as he willed his body into a steady jog. 

At least it wasn't far to the Well. When they arrived, Morrigan and the ancient elf looked as though they were about to perform the most incredible duel the temple had ever seen, and Rhyleigh was fairly certain it would end up being the last.

"The Well cannot be despoiled!" Abelas repeated fiercely.

"But Corypheus is already here!" Morrigan snapped. "If not us, then it will be _him_ taking the knowledge from here. He will not spare the time to argue as we have. And if he _does_ come, if he _does_ drink, then he will succeed and the temple, all of your people, all that this represents, will mean nothing."

The elf finally looked hesitant. He looked to the door through which they had all come, as though searching for the ancient magister. At length, he seemed to decide that Morrigan was right, and he stepped back. "Very well. I will let the shemlen drink."

Rhyleigh quietly approached the pool to stand beside Morrigan. It was so still, despite the chaos raging around. Curiosity was clawing at him to know what it would be like to drink, but there was also reason in his heart. This was not, and would never be, for him.

"Inquisitor, do you-"

"No," he said, taking a still-wobbly step back. "This is all you, Morrigan. Knowing me, I'd accidentally blow up Skyhold with what's in there."

She gave a slightly amused smile at that, then stepped into the pool.

A thought had been nagging at his mind since hearing about this Well of Sorrows. If it was a well, filled as it was with water, how exactly would one person drinking from it keep anyone else away? Surely there was more than enough for multiple people to drink, and Corypheus was right behind them, so there was hardly enough time for her to drink all the water that was there by herself. 

But, as with so many things, Rhyleigh was incredibly wrong in his thinking.

It wasn't so much Morrigan swallowing the water as it was the water swallowing her. The moment she stepped in, she began to glow, the light of a thousand stars burning brighter and brighter until no one could look directly at her. It must not have really been water, anyway, for it poured into her like light would, rolling about her body like a haze. When the ritual was done, she fell to her knees, gasping for breath.

"Are you alright?" he asked, kneeling beside her.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide as she stared at things he couldn't see. From her mouth poured words he didn't understand before she finally rose to her feet, looking down at herself. "I am intact," she said stiffly, still looking as though searching. "There is much to sift through, but we-"

Her words were lost by a terrible screech shaking the ancient stones. "Oh, fuck! It's Cuntyface!" Sera yelped, leaping back into Dorian.

"We need to get out of here," said the mage, pulling Sera further away.

"The Eluvian!" Morrigan called, sprinting towards the activated mirror. 

Rhyleigh grabbed Cassandra, who was still looking back at the approaching magister, and threw her into the Eluvian first. Dorian and Sera went next, then, with one last look at Corypheus, Rhyleigh leaped through.

. . .

Morrigan and Rhyleigh were quite the sight when the party emerged on the other side. They were both falling all over themselves as though having drunk a tavern dry, only kept marginally upright by Dorian and Cassandra's efforts. 

"Amatus, eyes open now, look at me," Dorian said, one hand on Rhyleigh's face. "We're all tired, but this is a highly inconvenient time and place for a nap."

"Don't tell me what to do," he muttered, pushing away to sit on the floor against the wall. "Cassandra, I'm so tired I think I'll die. Please say we don't have anything else to do."

She looked over at him, also sagging to the floor even as she held Morrigan in her arms. "No, Inquisitor," she said, breathless. "For the moment... we're done."

He let his head tilt back against the wall. "Okay.... Okay, good. Go team!"


	16. Falling Back

Rhyleigh knew he had incorrectly thought he'd been feeling drained when the next morning came around. _Drained_ didn't even begin to describe how exhausted he felt. The last few days had been nothing but physical and emotional mayhem, culminating in the wildest fight he'd ever had in his life. Shakily, he removed the blankets and tried to stand, then immediately collapsed into the side table.

"Kaffas," Dorian cursed, jerking awake. He saw his struggling lover and immediately moved to help him up. "Are you alright?"

"I...." He couldn't manage much more. He was shaking too hard. 

Dorian looked into his face, smoothing down his hair. "When was the last time you ate?"

Rhyleigh only shook his head, not much aware of the answer himself. Everything hurt, all his muscles more than sore from the battle. The sun was blazing through the window, and he wondered just how long he'd been sleeping.

Dorian sighed, then helped Rhyleigh get back onto the bed. "Alright, you stay here. I'll see if I can find anything remotely edible from your kitchens," he said, rubbing a hand over his face to the get the last of the sleep from his eyes. He took a clean tunic from the wardrobe, then ventured on out of the room.

Rhyleigh was still so tired. He wasn't even sure why he had awakened yet if he still felt so awful. He buried his face in the pillows, trying not to go back to sleep but realizing he had begun to doze by the time Dorian returned.

They ate right there on his bed, with hardly enough strength to lift the food to their mouths. The trip to the kitchens seemed to have exhausted Dorian, and, for once, he barely said a word. Rhyleigh did feel a bit better for having eaten, though there was still a stiffness in his very skin that wouldn't go away. When the food was gone, he pushed the plates aside and went right back to sleep.

The next time he awoke, it was because his throat was unbelievably dry. After a few coughs, he managed to push himself up enough to reach the water on the nightstand. Thirst sated for the moment, he took a moment to look around. It was dark in his chambers, meaning night had fallen. A quick look to the side showed Dorian still fast asleep. With an ache beginning in his head and a promise of nothing to do out in the castle, Rhyleigh went back to sleep.

The third time waking was by far the worst. It was to more coughing, but coughing that reached deeper than a mere parched throat. He couldn't breathe through his nose, which was monumentally frustrating, and his eyes kept watering.

By this point, Dorian was awake and moving, and when he heard the racket Rhyleigh was making, he immediately came over. "That sounds decidedly not good," he said, putting a hand on Rhyleigh's forehead. He made a face. "You're warm, Amatus."

"Bit warm isn't much to worry about, right?" he asked groggily.

"No, you don't understand, my hands are so warm you usually feel cold to me. You have a fever."

With a groan, Rhyleigh rolled onto his back, shielding his eyes from the light. Doing so tossed him into another fit of coughing, and Dorian forced him to sit up so he could breathe.

"Water? Tea?" the mage asked. "Come, Amatus, tell me what you need."

"Water," Rhyleigh croaked, burying his face in his pillow. He felt gentle hands rake through his hair for a moment, then heard Dorian's footsteps creaking across the floorboards. He was so achy, a deep ache that touched his bones. The cold only made everything worse. He just felt so disgusting, he wanted to get out of his own skin, but that wasn't an option. "I'm going to die," he groaned.

"No, you're not. Stop being so dramatic and drink," Dorian said, touching the rim of a wooden cup to the Inquisitor's lips. 

Rhyleigh drank. The water tasted stale in his sick mouth, but the coolness felt wonderful. Even his tongue felt clammy, and any way to wash that off for a moment was welcome.

"I believe you overdid it a little, your worship," Dorian said dryly, replacing the cup to the nightstand.

"Don't tell Yorick I'm sick," Rhyleigh sniffed.

The mage looked at him. "He's not even here, he's still in the Arbor Wilds."

That statement didn't quite process all the way through Rhyleigh's muddled mind and he looked at Dorian in sudden panic. "He's not - he didn't die-"

Dorian's eyes widened. "No! Kaffas, you're absurd when you're ill. Go back to sleep while I find the healer. You're no use to anyone in this state."

Again, the lack of a processing function knocked Rhyleigh out of reason. He looked at Dorian, suddenly immensely hurt. "You... I'm not _useless_ , I'm-"

"Great Maker," Dorian sighed, drawing a hand over his face. "Go to sleep, Amatus, you'll forget all about this later." He leaned forward and kissed Rhyleigh's forehead, pulling sweaty hair away from his brow. "And _please_ , do try not to get any worse. I imagine this place would grow incredibly dull without your overly emotional presence." With that, he got to his feet and left to get healing aid.

. . .

On the second day of Rhyleigh's sickness, Dorian entered the chambers to find the Inquisitor seated at his desk going through the pile of reports that had accumulated. "And whatever happened to the bedrest everyone so vehemently suggested?" he asked, folding his arms.

Rhyleigh glanced up and sniffed. "I've _been_ sleeping, Dorian," he croaked, squinting at a missive. "I couldn't do it anymore, not when I can't breathe and keep waking up to cough." As though that was a cue, he turned into his arm and fell into a round that was painful to the ear.

Dorian winced, then crossed the room and put a hand on Rhyleigh's head. The Inquisitor closed his eyes, dropping the report and leaning into the touch. "Not quite as warm, but still enough to be concerned about," Dorian said. "You know what the healer said about this, yes?"

"She'd just given me a dose of potion, I wasn't aware of much," Rhyleigh replied.

Dorian bent so he was more on Rhyleigh's level. "She said it's been a long time coming. It wasn't just the sprint through the Wilds that brought this on. You continue to work yourself to the bone with hardly any rest, and that's not to mention the drama you have stirring around inside of you at all times. Once upon a time, I knew a Herald who took better care of himself."

"Yeah, well, that Herald didn't know what he'd stepped in," Rhyleigh said, opening his eyes and digging into the stack of papers as though to prove his point. "If I'm going to be trouble, I'd better make it worthwhile."

Dorian groaned. "Trouble with a capital T, Amatus. I meant what I said in the temple, you'll be the death of me."

Rhyleigh smiled slightly before coughing again. "Not if I kick it first," he croaked.

Dorian smacked his arm. "Don't you start."

. . .

Day three of sickness, day five of being home, Cullen finally led the first of the troops back into Skyhold. As husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, and children reconnected in the courtyard, the Inquisitor stood on the first landing of the stone steps, observing his people. Relief loosened the iron bars around his chest as he caught a familiar face, and then Knight-Captain Yorick was mounting the stairs to join the Inquisitor.

They looked at one another for a long moment, unsure what to say. Yorick finally shook his head. "You have a habit of going in places and never coming back out. No one told us you went back through the mirror thing. We had to wait for a messenger bird that came the next day."

Rhyleigh gave a slight shrug. "Going out the way we came in wasn't an option," he said hoarsely.

Yorick almost rolled his eyes. "And that's another thing - you _still_ look like shit, and it's been near a week."

Rhyleigh half-smiled, running a hand through his hair and trying to draw a deep breath, but this only resulted in more coughing. "Yeah, no, I'm actually dying, I've got Leliana and Josie inside planning the funeral. Leliana promised me she'd pick the nicest flowers."

"Do you ever shut up?" Yorick said, the words coming out in a rush as he stepped forward and embraced the man. 

Rhyleigh froze for a moment, caught totally by surprise. Then, slowly, he raised his arms to hug back.

"I really thought you were dead for a while."

"I'm sorry.... And I'm sorry about before, what I said." Rhyleigh pulled back slightly, looking away. "I'm not sorry for what I said to Camilla, but... maybe it wasn't-"

"I understand," Yorick interrupted, holding up a hand. "I don't like it... but I understand. And, whatever happens, you're still my brother, whether you like it or not."

Rhyleigh couldn't look at him. It had mystified him recently more than ever that Yorick actually did care about him without obligation. After the way he'd acted and how little patience Yorick historically had for such things, it bothered him. There had to be a reason, something he was missing. But with every day, no ulterior motives revealed themselves. He supposed he ought to count himself lucky someone thought him worthy of such a bond and leave it alone.

"I do have a question, though," Yorick said. "What of your name?"

"What?" Rhyleigh asked.

"Well, you're not a Trevelyan anymore. What do you call yourself now?"

Rhyleigh shrugged, scratching the back of his head. "Before we left for the Arbor Wilds, I... started looking for my real mother. Haven't found much yet. I think I want her name, but if I don't find her... I don't know, perhaps I'll make a new one."

Yorick clapped him on the shoulder. "So long as it isn't anything stupid, I'm right behind you."

Rhyleigh shoved him slightly. "Don't you have a lady love to go see? She's been less fun than even me around here."

"Then she's due for a smile, aye?" Yorick said, his eyes suddenly lighting up. "Beg your pardon, Inquisitor, but I'll take my leave now." With an exaggerated bow, he skipped up the last flight of steps and into the keep. Rhyleigh would have laughed if it didn't hurt his chest.


	17. She Returns

Rhyleigh eventually did recover from the illness, as he had with everything else. Although, at this point in the war, he'd taken to sleeping whenever and wherever he could, and that included places like the table at dinner, the tavern tables, sitting on a rock in the courtyard, the library, and, what was steadily becoming his favorite, Sera's little corner in the tavern. And sometimes his friends would join him there, like Varric if he had a moment, usually Dorian, sometimes Bull, but he'd only look in for a moment as he couldn't fit inside. Sera said she didn't mind it so long as they didn't touch her things or use magic (that one was strictly a rule for Dorian, to no one's surprise). 

He was there today, lying facedown on the cushions and half-listening to Dorian and Sera's conversation. 

"You always call out magic as the scariest thing you can think of, but it seems as though you have an aversion to displays of any sort of power," Dorian mused. 

"Yeah, but all those tools aren't the same amount of unwieldy, right?" she shot back.

Experience told Rhyleigh that Dorian was trying to keep a laugh contained. "Right, yes, but I'm thinking of your reactions to other things. The fact that you're a part of this... Red Jenny brigade at all says political power rubs you the wrong way. You didn't like those ancient elves we met, despite the fact that few, if any, were mages."

"Yeah, 'cause both those kinds of people are dicks!" she said. "Doesn't matter if it was a human king or an old elf, they all think they've got stuff to just sit up on a shelf and never share."

"Quite. But there is also the matter of Ryleigh," Dorian said. "You know him, you know he'd never hurt you, and yet you kept your distance from him after the fight - after his rather impressive display of power."

Rhyleigh cracked an eye open to see Sera make a face. "Yeah, well, he'd just beat Colipheros' tool to nothing, hadn't he?"

"I regret ever using that analogy with you."

"And it was _scary_ , because I've watched him trippin' over himself to get up the stairs and all of a sudden he's not like that anymore, he's a different person, and for a minute you feel lied to, yeah?" She folded her arms, moodily looking away. "And what's so wrong with not likin' power? You've seen everything it does to people."

Dorian's gaze softened as he leaned forward. "I have. I know all too well of what you speak. But we're your friends, and I want you to trust us."

"I do trust you," she said, moving to toy with something on a table by the window. "Doesn't mean you're not scary, too."

"That actually-"

"Oh, hey, what's goin' on down there?" she suddenly said, dropping the item in her hand so she could lean over Rhyleigh. "Maybe a fight, yeah? People look all pissy."

Rhyleigh opened his eyes and turned more towards the window. "What?" he asked blearily.

Dorian came over, too, and Sera pointed towards Skyhold's front gates. It took a moment, but Rhyleigh finally located what she was seeing, and then he nearly fell over himself trying to get off the seat. "Maker's bleedin' arse, what's she doing here?"

"You know her?" Sera asked. 

"It's Camilla," he said, tugging his boots on. "And I thought I made it abundantly clear that we'd have nothing to do with each other from now on."

His friends shared a look, then followed as he stormed from the room and down the stairs.

By the front gates, the confrontation was between Josephine, Yorick, and Camilla. It seemed the ambassador and the Templar were barring her entrance, and that was pulling a round of loud protestations from Camilla.

"Let me arrange a room for you," Josephine was saying. "It would be far more comfortable to wait-"

"I'm not waiting," Camilla snapped. "Tell me where he is, I want-"

"Camilla, he doesn't want to see you," Yorick said, a hand on her shoulder to keep her back. "Let me talk to him first and see if I can't reason this out."

She shoved his hand away from her. "I don't need you to be some sort of mediator, this is between he and I and I won't have you standing there to pretend everything's fine like when we were children."

"Milla, don't-"

"Enough!" Rhyleigh called, striding towards the trio. Camilla turned, and her eyes widened slightly in surprise when she saw him. He must have looked different. He stared right back, trying to think of how best to handle the situation while the majority of those in the courtyard looked on. "Lady Vael, to what do I owe this visit?" he finally asked.

She pulled a face. "Don't you do that. What was the meaning of that letter you sent? You can't disown _yourself_."

"Yet I have," he replied coolly. "And I can't see why you're getting so worked up about it. How many times have you wished me out of the family?"

"Yes, but that wasn't-" She frowned. “You can’t just leave. We’re your family.”

Rhyleigh was so dumbstruck by her statement that he merely stared at her with his jaw dropped. He looked to Yorick, who had his face in his hand. Beside him, Josephine looked as though she didn’t know what to do with herself. “I may have to lie down after that one,” he finally said after a long moment, then turned to walk away.

Camilla followed. “Rhyleigh-”

“Don’t you have a husband to please?” he asked, not slowing his stride. His long legs were forcing her to jog slightly to keep up, despite her own height.

“Don’t you talk to me that way-”

“Pardon?” he said, stopping so he could turn to face her. “Do you understand who you’re speaking to right now, Camilla?” He advanced, forcing her back a few paces. “I am the Inquisitor. I am the leader of Thedas’ last hope. You? You’re a lady from Ostwick, _maybe_ going to inherit something big, though that’s not guaranteed. But that’s why you married up, right? That’s why you make your connections. I thought I made it clear in my letter, I’m at war and I don’t have time to dance around helping you live out your dream of being important.”

She actually gasped slightly at his words, so stunned for second or so that she was silent until her anger returned. “You think _I'm_ unimportant? Without us, you'd have gotten _nowhere_!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Yorick barked.

They ignored him. "And now I don't need you," Rhyleigh shot back. "You didn't _ever_ do anything for me, so exactly what favor would I be returning? You only came here because you were afraid of losing a trophy for your shelf."

"At least I created my own network to get where I am! Everything special about you happened purely by accident! And I'm sure you wouldn't have gotten _this_ far if someone didn't hold your hand!"

Yorick looked like he was about to push the two apart, but Rhyleigh seized the front of Camilla's dress and pulled her close. "Do you want this position? Do you want to kill people all the time and watch your friends and allies die because of you? Do you want the destruction of an entire village to be _your_ fault? Accidental or not, don't you _dare_ believe that makes any difference on what I have to do."

"That's _enough_!" Yorick snarled, forcefully yanking the two apart. "You're not children anymore! There's no sense in brawling in the middle of the courtyard!"

Rhyleigh was breathing more heavily, his eyes locked on Camilla. "You wouldn't last a day," he said lowly. "You can go home, Camilla, because you're not welcome here. Someone escort her out!" He turned and continued up the castle steps, ignoring Yorick's attempts to call him back and Camilla's outraged arguments. He did, however, listen to a few of his Templars firmly telling her she needed to go with them out of Skyhold.

. . .

Once upon a time, Rhyleigh would have gone to an obscure corner of the castle to sulk. Now, it seemed any time he wasn't in the mood to talk, he'd go into the war room to move things around. 

It made sense to do it. Camilla had just called him an accident, _again_ , so this time maybe he'd prove her wrong. Of course, he already had, but it was satisfying to continue doing it. All she knew of him, all she _wanted_ to know, was the sad boy who could be easily thrown aside. He was of the opinion that she needed that Rhyleigh back to make herself feel powerful again. Otherwise, why would she come all this way? It was far more effort than she'd ever put towards him, so maybe things weren't going so well in Ostwick or in Starkhaven anymore. Not like he could give two shakes of a nug's ass about that. 

The door to the war room opened, then creaked closed again. He sighed. "If it's Yorick, I don't want to talk. If it's Dorian, I'll meet you for dinner. If it's Camilla, you should be long gone and I can have you thrown in the dungeon."

"None of those," said a calm, distinctive Nevarran accent. 

He shut his eyes, letting his head hang for a moment before turning around. "I suppose they told you there was a brawl and that I overreacted. It wasn't anything like that - she should not have been here, and I had her leave before the situation escalated."

Cassandra merely shook her head as she leaned against the door. "No one said anything about a brawl. Josephine is nearly beside herself because she wanted to look into breaking you away from the Trevelyans, but now she can't decide if it's her place or not. Sera and Dorian were concerned about what Lady Vael said to you. Yorick told me you shouldn't have seen her at all." She stepped forward until she was standing beside him at the table. "Your people, at least, know when your cause is just."

He exhaled, looking down at the map as he toyed with one of the little wooden figures. "It's really nothing," he said. "A petty argument, as usual. No one should fuss."

"All we do is fuss," she said with a slight smile. "And you know I wouldn't have sought you out unless it was necessary."

He couldn't resist a smirk. "You dislike my company so much, Cass?"

She rolled her eyes. "I know when you don't want to talk. Maker knows you've stormed off on me enough times. You have a lot to think about and, yes, you're right, she is not a current priority. What would you like to do?"

He raised an eyebrow, surprised that anyone actually wanted to do something about this. "Well... I'd like to keep her out of Skyhold if at all possible. Knowing her, she'd start a riot over the draperies, and I've already got Vivienne for that." He waited for her amused smirk, then gave a shrug. "I'd really rather forget about it. Morrigan's got a lead with the knowledge she got from the Well, and we're still trying to pull our forces out of the Wilds. I really _can't_ worry about her."

Cassandra nodded. "Rest assured, if she attempts to interrupt any of our business again, she will be promptly removed from the grounds."

Rhyleigh grinned, imagining Camilla being accosted by Cassandra as he had been so many times. Of course, her esteemed husband would be none too happy with such a thing, but it was almost amusing enough for him to not care. He turned to the war table again. Back to business, back to saving the world, back to being more important than Camilla could ever hope to be.


End file.
